Chapter 8 - What Grant Found Before We DidWe didn't go to my parents' house that night.
Instead, we went to the county records office.
Margot wanted independent copies of everything.
"If they destroy the originals," she said, "we need proof that existed before they could."
We spent five hours pulling records.
The property deeds.
The LLC filings.
The loan documents.
The trust records.
And finally, the transfer instrument.
Every thread led back to the same people.
Frank.
Grant.
Susan.
But one name appeared in a place I hadn't expected.
Sienna.
She wasn't listed as a signer.
She was listed as the preparer of a corporate resolution.
I stared at it.
"She's in PR."
"She's also a notary," Margot said.
I frowned.
"What?"
She pointed.
Sienna had notarized two pages.
My mother stared at the document.
"She told me she never touched the paperwork."
"She lied."
Mom's face collapsed.
The family had turned into a machine.
Everyone had a role.
Dad controlled the money.
Grant handled the legal structure.
Sienna handled appearances.
Aunt Susan supplied the false notarizations.
Mom kept everyone calm.
And I was the asset they intended to absorb.
We left the records office after dark.
My phone rang.
Sienna.
I answered.
"What do you want?"
"I want to talk."
"Why?"
"Because things are getting out of control."
"They were out of control before I knew."
"You embarrassed Mom and Dad."
"You mean they embarrassed themselves."
She was silent.
Then said, "You don't understand the business."
"You're right."
"But you're about to destroy the family."
"I didn't borrow three million dollars."
"That's not what this is about."
"What is it about?"
Another pause.
Then Sienna whispered:
"Grant is planning to leave."
I frowned.
"Leave what?"
"Everything."
She sounded terrified.
"He doesn't want the catering company."
"Then why fight for it?"
"Because Dad promised him something."
"What?"
"He promised Grant the properties."
My grip tightened.
"Which properties?"
"All of them."
"And the company?"
"Grant doesn't care."
"Then what does he want?"
Sienna took a breath.
"The land."
"What land?"
"The land under the warehouses."
Margot looked at me.
I put Sienna on speaker.
"Explain."
"There's a development project."
"What project?"
"A hotel and conference district."
I stared at Margot.
Sienna continued.
"Three years ago, Grant started working with a developer."
"Who?"
"Northstar Development."
I felt a chill.
Margot immediately started typing.
Sienna said, "They need your properties."
"My properties."
"Yes."
"And Dad knew?"
"Of course."
"That's why the lease?"
"He wanted control before the developers made an offer."
The pieces began fitting together.
My father didn't merely want my building.
He wanted to control the properties long enough to sell them.
The catering company was a shell.
The party was a pressure campaign.
The inheritance was bait.
The real target was the land.
"Why are you telling me this?"
Sienna started crying.
"Because Grant found out you know."
"What does he plan to do?"
"I don't know."
"You called me. You know something."
Silence.
Then:
"He has a purchase agreement."
"For my properties?"
"Not exactly."
"What does that mean?"
"He doesn't own them."
"Then what did he sign?"
Sienna's breathing became uneven.
"He signed a development agreement using Holloway Legacy Holdings."
My stomach tightened.
"And he listed your name as a member."
"Again."
"Yes."
I closed my eyes.
Then Sienna whispered:
"Hazel, there's one more thing."
"What?"
"The agreement closes in fourteen days."
"Fourteen days?"
"He needs your signature before then."
Margot shook her head.
"They can't close without title."
Sienna's voice dropped.
"That's what Grant is trying to fix."
"How?"
"He already has someone pretending to be you."
The line went dead.
I stared at the phone.
Margot asked, "Did she say someone was pretending to be you?"
"Yes."
"Then we have a much bigger problem."
"What?"
She turned her laptop around.
A document had just been uploaded to the county system.
A new corporate filing.
Submitted forty-three minutes ago.
The registered manager of Harbor Eight Properties had been changed.
I read the name.
Hazel Holloway.
But the signature was not mine.
Again.
Except this time, the filing had one additional attachment.
A copy of my driver's license.
A copy of my passport.
And a photograph of me holding both.
Taken inside my own house.
Margot went pale.
"Someone has been inside."
I looked at the photograph.
Behind me, barely visible in the reflection of the kitchen window, was a man.
May you like
I recognized him.
The same man from the black SUV.
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