Chapter 4 - The Daughter Who Was Supposed to InheritMelissa was going to inherit my house.
Not someday.
Not after my death.
In three weeks.
That was the date printed on the transfer agreement Daniel had photographed.
I stared at the document until the letters blurred.
Then I zoomed in.
There was another signature.
My father's.
Beside it was a line identifying him as my authorized representative.
The forged power of attorney.
It all connected.
He was trying to use a fake power of attorney to transfer my property to Melissa.
And according to the document, the transfer had already been scheduled.
I called Daniel.
He answered immediately.
“Claire.”
“Where did you get this?”
“Melissa had it.”
“Why?”
“I found it in her bag.”
“Does she know you sent it to me?”
“No.”
“What else does she have?”
“I don't know.”
“Daniel.”
He breathed heavily.
“There are more documents.”
“What kind?”
“Bank records. Wedding contracts. A spreadsheet.”
“Send them.”
He hesitated.
“Claire, before I do this, you need to understand something.”
“What?”
“Melissa wasn't the one who started it.”
I felt a chill.
“Then who did?”
Silence.
“Daniel.”
“My father was.”
I stared at the wall.
“Your father?”
“Victor came to me six months ago.”
“Why?”
“He said the house was going to become Melissa's after the wedding.”
I closed my eyes.
“How?”
“He said you'd agreed.”
“I never agreed.”
“I know that now.”
“What did he tell you?”
“That the property was a family asset. That you were planning to move. That Melissa would take over the house.”
I almost laughed.
“I wasn't moving.”
“I know.”
“Did Melissa know this?”
“Yes.”
My stomach tightened.
“How long?”
“She knew something was happening.”
“What does that mean?”
“She thought your father had already spoken to you.”
“Did she?”
“No.”
“Then she knew he was lying.”
Daniel didn't answer.
That was answer enough.
A few minutes later, a folder arrived on my phone.
Inside were dozens of images.
Wedding contracts.
Invoices.
Property photographs.
A spreadsheet listing potential guests.
Estimated catering costs.
Venue revenue.
Then I saw something that made me sit down.
A projection.
TOTAL EVENT REVENUE:
$73,800
VENUE COST:
$0
PROPERTY OWNER:
CLAIRE BENNETT
I stared at the zero.
They had planned to make seventy-three thousand dollars from my property without paying me a cent.
Then I saw another line.
EXPECTED TRANSFER OF OWNERSHIP:
BEFORE FINAL PAYMENT.
I scrolled faster.
At the bottom was a handwritten note.
“Once Claire signs, everything becomes clean.”
My hands began shaking.
I called Martin.
“We found the transfer agreement.”
His voice sharpened.
“Send everything.”
I did.
Then he said something unexpected.
“Claire, this may help explain why your father was in such a hurry.”
“What?”
“Your father's company has debt.”
“How much?”
“More than half a million.”
I stopped breathing for a second.
“What kind of debt?”
“Business loans.”
“Against what?”
“The company.”
“Not my house?”
“Not legally.”
I understood.
Not legally yet.
But he intended to make it legal.
Martin continued.
“There was also another filing.”
“What now?”
“Your father's company listed your property as a principal business asset.”
I stared at my phone.
“When?”
“Two months ago.”
“Two months?”
“Yes.”
I thought back.
Two months ago, I had been working late.
Melissa had called me.
She had asked whether she could borrow a key because she wanted to take some engagement photographs.
I had said yes.
That same weekend, she and Daniel had spent two days at my house.
I had not questioned it.
Why would I?
I was her sister.
I trusted her.
Martin suddenly asked, “Did they photograph anything besides the wedding?”
“The house.”
“All of it?”
“I think so.”
He went quiet.
“What?”
“They may have been documenting the property for financing.”
I looked toward the windows.
Six years of memories suddenly felt like evidence.
Every room.
Every wall.
Every improvement.
Every expensive repair.
I remembered the photos Melissa had taken.
The electrical panel.
The water system.
The pool equipment.
The kitchen.
The roof.
I had assumed they were making wedding content.
They were building a file.
I asked Martin, “What happens now?”
“We file an emergency injunction preventing transfer or encumbrance.”
“And the forged power of attorney?”
“That goes to investigators.”
“Will Dad go to jail?”
“I can't tell you that.”
“Will Melissa?”
“I can't tell you that either.”
He paused.
“But I can tell you this.”
“What?”
“Someone knowingly created documents designed to change ownership of your property.”
I looked at the family photo still pinned in our group chat.
Mom smiling.
Dad grinning.
Melissa leaning against my hospital bed.
The monitor beside me.
My bracelet visible.
They had taken that photograph because they thought they were celebrating family.
Now I understood what it really was.
A picture of the moment they assumed I was too weak to stop them.
My phone buzzed again.
This time it was my mother.
“Come home and talk to us.”
I replied with one sentence.
“I am home.”
She responded instantly.
“No, Claire. You're at the house.”
I stared at the message.
Then another appeared.
“Don't make us force the issue.”
I showed it to Martin.
He read it.
Then he looked at me.
“Do you know what that means?”
“I think so.”
“No.”
He pointed to the screen.
“Read the last word again.”
I did.
Force.
Then another message came through.
A photograph.
It was the front door of my house.
Taken from inside.
I froze.
Someone had entered my home after I left.
My new locks hadn't been installed yet.
And there was one detail in the photograph that made my blood turn cold.
May you like
The bedroom door behind the camera was open.
My bedroom.
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