Chapter 5 - The Midnight Forgery
I stared at the heavy black letters of the eviction notice peeking out of Colleen's purse. The sheer cruelty of it—planning to lock my orphaned nieces and grieving son out of their own home while I was away—was a level of malice I could barely comprehend. My chest tightened, a cold, hard knot of absolute resolve forming in my ribs. They were not just thieves; they were predators.
"Mara?" Colleen’s sharp voice cut through the hallway. "Are we doing this fitting or not? I don't have all day."
I smoothly pivoted away from her bag, my face an unreadable mask. "Of course, Colleen. Let's go up to the guest room."
I spent the next hour pinning the hem of Colleen's lavish mother-of-the-groom gown, kneeling at her feet like a servant while she complained about the catering menu and the size of the floral arrangements. Every time she made a condescending remark about my "noisy" house, I thought of the forged pages sitting in my portfolio downstairs. Enjoy your power, Colleen, I thought, sliding a silver pin into the silk fabric. It expires in forty-eight hours.
That night, after the house finally fell silent, I crept downstairs into Grant’s office. It was 2:00 AM. The only light came from the small flashlight I held in my teeth. I placed his original navy-blue folder on the desk and opened my leather portfolio.
Using a specialized architectural binding tool I used for client presentations, I carefully pried open the metal staples holding Grant’s fraudulent contract together. I slipped out the pages transferring my home and the girls' trust to his LLC. With surgical precision, I slid in the forged pages David and I had created—the ones that would bankrupt Grant and his mother the moment his pen touched the paper. I pressed the staples back into place, ensuring the indents matched perfectly. It looked flawless.
As I closed the folder, I heard a soft rustle of fabric behind me.
I whipped around, dropping the flashlight. It clattered against the oak desk, the beam swinging wildly across the room until it landed on a small pair of bare feet.
It was Caleb.
He was standing in the doorway, clutching his worn fleece blanket. His face was pale in the harsh light.
"Mom?" he whispered, his voice trembling. "What are you doing?"
I quickly turned off the flashlight and turned on the small desk lamp, keeping my body between Caleb and the folder. "I couldn't sleep, sweetheart. I was just reviewing some paperwork for the wedding. What's wrong? Why are you awake?"
Caleb didn't step into the room. He stayed hovering on the threshold, looking down at his feet. "I had a bad dream. About Dad."
My heart broke. I crossed the room and wrapped my arms around his shoulders, pulling him against me. "Oh, honey. I'm so sorry."
Caleb buried his face in my shoulder. For a moment, he was just a little boy missing his father. But then he pulled back, looking up at me with eyes that were far too old for a twelve-year-old.
"Mom," Caleb said, his voice dropping to a harsh whisper. "I don't want you to marry Grant."
I froze. "Why do you say that, Caleb?"
He looked nervously toward the stairs, as if afraid Grant might materialize from the shadows. "He's different when you're not in the room. Yesterday, when you were in the shower, June accidentally spilled her juice on his blueprints. He grabbed her arm, Mom. Really hard. He told her she was a stupid little brat and that once you were married, she was going to boarding school."
Rage, pure and blinding, ignited in my blood. He had touched her. He had threatened a nine-year-old orphan.
"And," Caleb continued, his voice cracking, "I saw his phone when it lit up on the counter. A woman named Sarah texted him. She said, 'Leo asks when Daddy is coming home.' Mom... who is Sarah? Does Grant have another kid?"
I closed my eyes, taking a deep, shuddering breath. I wanted to protect Caleb from the ugly truth of the world, but he had already seen it. He needed validation, not another adult lying to him.
I knelt down so I was eye-level with my son. I took his face in both my hands.
"Caleb, listen to me very carefully," I said, my voice fiercely steady. "You are right. Grant is a bad man. He has been lying to us, and he is trying to hurt our family."
Caleb’s eyes widened, a mix of fear and profound relief washing over his face. "Then why are you marrying him?"
"I am not going to marry him," I promised, pressing a kiss to his forehead. "But I need him to believe that I am. I have set a trap, Caleb. A legal trap that will protect our house, protect Maisie and June, and make sure Grant can never hurt us again. But I need to spring it on Saturday. Can you be brave for me for just two more days? Can you pretend everything is normal?"
Caleb looked at me, the fear slowly draining from his posture, replaced by the quiet, resilient strength he had inherited from his father. He gave a firm nod. "I can do it."
"Good boy," I whispered.
Suddenly, the heavy tread of footsteps sounded on the floorboards directly above us. Grant's bedroom. He was awake.
The floorboards creaked toward the stairs. He was coming down.
May you like
I shoved the forged folder into Grant's leather briefcase, snapped it shut, and spun around just as the office door swung wide open. Grant stood there in his sweatpants, rubbing his eyes, his brow furrowed in suspicion.
"Mara?" he asked, his gaze darting from me to Caleb, then down to his briefcase in my hand. "What's going on down here?"
