Chapter 3 - THE COLLATERAL
The silver charm dangled from Lacy’s fingers, catching the dim morning light. Kent spun around, his face morphing from terror to a desperate, manufactured fury.
"Lacy, what the hell are you doing here?" he demanded, stepping toward her. "You need to leave. Now."
"Don't you take another step toward her," I snapped. My voice was a whip crack in the small room.
Kent froze. He looked between the two of us—his wife and his mistress—realizing he had lost control of the narrative.
Lacy walked slowly to the counter, ignoring Kent entirely. She placed the silver bridge charm gently on the glass. Up close, she looked so young. The polished confidence I had seen at the restaurant was gone, replaced by the hollow, exhausted look of a woman who had spent the night unraveling a carefully woven lie.
"I went back to the restaurant after you left," Lacy said, her eyes locked on mine. "I found the box on the floor. I opened it. It had an engraving on the back."
I looked down. I had spent extra to have the tiny silver bridge engraved: For Kent. To bearing the tension, together. 7 Years.
"He told me you two were separated," Lacy whispered, a tear spilling over her lashes. "He told me you lived in the guest room. That the divorce papers were just held up by your father's medical bills. He showed me a draft of the settlement."
"Lacy, stop," Kent begged, his voice cracking. "Sylvia, don't listen to her, she's hysterical—"
"A settlement draft?" I asked, my heart pounding against my ribs. "What settlement?"
Lacy unzipped her soaked designer purse. She pulled out a crumpled sheaf of papers and pushed them across the glass, right over the forged Guarneri appraisal.
"This one," she said.
I flattened the pages. It was a mock-up of a divorce decree. But as I read the terms, the room started to spin. According to this document, I was agreeing to surrender my 100% ownership of Mercer String Works, transferring a controlling 51% stake to Kent in exchange for him assuming my father's medical debts.
"I never saw this," I breathed. "I never agreed to this."
"He needed it," Lacy said, her voice trembling. "To show the loan officer. To prove he had the assets to back his personal guarantee on the foundation's loan."
My head snapped up. "What are you talking about? The foundation is taking the loan using the Guarneri violin as collateral."
Lacy looked at me, genuine confusion warring with her grief. "Sylvia... there is no Guarneri violin."
Silence fell over the shop, heavier than the rain outside.
"What do you mean?" I asked.
Lacy turned to Kent, her eyes blazing with a sudden, vicious clarity. "Tell her, Kent. Tell her what you had me notarize last week."
Kent backed away, hitting the edge of a display case. "It was just a temporary bridge loan! It's all going to be paid back!"
"He didn't use a violin for collateral, Sylvia," Lacy said, her voice dropping to a horrified whisper. "He used the building. This building. Your shop."
The air left my lungs.
My grandfather bought this building in 1968. It was the only asset my family had. It paid for my mother's cardiology appointments. It kept my father in a safe assisted-living facility. It was the beating heart of everything I was.
"You took out a mortgage on my shop?" I asked, my voice barely audible.
"It's a commercial line of credit," Kent babbled, sweat beading on his forehead. "Fifty thousand dollars. Just to float the foundation's deficit until the annual gala! The gala raises a million dollars every year, Sylvia! I was going to pay it back on Monday, and no one would ever know!"
"Fifty thousand?" Lacy laughed, a wet, hysterical sound. "Kent, I processed the paperwork. I am a licensed notary. You told me you owned the building. You showed me the divorce decree."
She reached into her purse one last time.
She pulled out a heavy, red-stamped envelope from Cascade Pacific Bank.
"It wasn't fifty thousand dollars, Sylvia," Lacy said, sliding the envelope toward me. "It was five hundred thousand. And the first payment bounced three days ago."
I tore open the envelope. The words Notice of Default and Intent to Foreclose screamed at me in bold black ink.
"You forged the deed," I whispered, staring at the paperwork. "You forged my signature, and you had your girlfriend notarize it."
Kent lunged forward, slamming his hands on the counter. "I was trying to save us! If I lose my job, we lose everything!"
"We already lost everything!" I screamed, slamming my own hands down so hard the glass rattled. "Get out. Get out of my shop before I call the police."
"Sylvia, please, if the bank calls—"
"I am going to tell them my husband is a fraud," I said, my voice dropping to a lethal calm. "Get out."
Kent looked at my face, realizing the absolute finality in my eyes. He turned and bolted out the door, the bell chiming his exit into the rain.
I stood there, my hands shaking over the foreclosure notice. Five hundred thousand dollars. I had thirty days before the bank seized the building.
Lacy was crying softly by the door.
"I'm sorry," she whispered. "I didn't know he was lying. I really didn't. I loved him."
I looked at her. I should have hated her. But all I saw was another woman Kent had used as a shield.
"I believe you, Lacy," I said quietly.
She wiped her eyes, nodding gratefully. "If you need me to testify about the notary stamp... I will. I'll tell the bank I didn't see you sign it."
"Thank you," I said.
She turned to leave, her hand on the doorknob.
"Lacy," I called out.
She looked back.
"If there was no Guarneri violin," I asked, my brow furrowing, "why did Kent have a forged appraisal with my signature on it in his briefcase?"
Lacy blinked, her face going pale.
"Sylvia," she whispered. "The foundation doesn't have a Guarneri. But the private auction tomorrow night in Bellevue... Kent is selling one there. He told the board a private donor gifted it to him to sell for the charity."
My blood ran cold.
If Kent didn't own a Guarneri, and the foundation didn't own one... what exactly was he planning to sell for a million dollars tomorrow night?
I didn't have time to answer. My cell phone buzzed on the counter.
It was my sister, Nadine.
I picked it up. "Nadine, I'm so glad you're awake. I need you to come to the shop. Kent did something—"
"Sylvia," Nadine interrupted. Her voice wasn't just panicked. It was gutted. "Sylvia, you need to come to the hospital."
May you like
"Mom?" I asked, my heart stopping. "Is it her heart?"
"No," Nadine choked out, sobbing. "It's Dad. Someone checked him out of the facility this morning. He's gone, Sylvia. And his room... it's been completely cleared out."
