Chapter 3 - The Woman Behind the MaskSomeone Else Was Helping HerPatrick asked everyone to remain in the condo.
Nobody moved.
Harper stood near the kitchen, clutching her phone.
Caleb looked like he had been struck.
His parents were whispering to each other.
And I stood in the center of the living room, realizing something I had not wanted to consider.
Harper might not have done all of this alone.
Patrick held out his hand.
“Give me the phone.”
Harper shook her head.
“You have no right.”
“Then call the police.”
She froze.
Patrick did not blink.
“I'll wait.”
Her father stared at her.
“What are you hiding?”
“Nothing.”
“Harper.”
His voice carried disappointment this time.
She looked at him.
Then at Caleb.
Nobody came to her defense.
She slowly handed Patrick the phone.
He did not read her messages.
Instead, he photographed the lock screen.
The suspicious text was still visible.
He returned the phone.
“I don't need to search your private conversations yet.”
“Yet?”
“Yes.”
He opened his briefcase.
“There are proper legal procedures.”
Harper swallowed.
Patrick turned to me.
“I want to take you somewhere.”
“Where?”
“Your bank.”
I frowned.
“What does my bank have to do with this?”
“The power of attorney includes financial authority.”
Cold moved through my chest.
I had already checked my accounts that morning.
Everything appeared normal.
Patrick shook his head.
“That's what worries me.”
At the bank, we were taken into a private office.
The manager knew me.
He greeted me warmly.
Then his smile faded when Patrick explained the problem.
He pulled up my account records.
“There have been no withdrawals.”
I exhaled.
Relief.
Then he continued.
“But there were attempts.”
My stomach dropped.
“How many?”
“Three.”
One had been a request to add Harper as an authorized representative.
Another had been an attempt to change the mailing address.
The third had been a request to obtain archived statements.
I stared at the manager.
“When?”
He gave me the dates.
All within the past four months.
While I had been living in my condo.
While I had still believed my family was simply my family.
Patrick leaned forward.
“Was anything approved?”
“One request almost was.”
“Which one?”
“The mailing address.”
He showed me the new address.
I recognized it.
It was Harper's work address.
I closed my eyes.
Someone had been trying to redirect my financial mail.
Patrick thanked the manager.
Outside, he said nothing for several seconds.
Then I asked the question I had been afraid to ask.
“Do you think Caleb knew?”
Patrick looked at me.
“I don't know.”
That answer hurt more than I expected.
Because I had raised Caleb.
I knew his strengths.
His weaknesses.
His tendency to avoid confrontation.
But I did not know whether his silence had been cowardice or complicity.
That night, I went back to the condo.
Harper and her parents had finally left.
Caleb remained.
He was sitting alone in the living room.
The furniture looked wrong.
The shelves looked empty.
The room no longer carried the feeling of home.
Caleb looked up.
“Mom.”
I placed my purse on the table.
“Did you know about the refinance?”
He shook his head.
“Did you know Harper wanted control of my accounts?”
“No.”
“Did you know she was hiring a property company?”
“No.”
“Did you know she told her parents the condo was hers?”
He hesitated.
And that hesitation told me more than words could.
“She mentioned that she thought you might give it to us eventually.”
“Us?”
He looked down.
“Yes.”
I sat across from him.
“Why didn't you ask me?”
He rubbed his face.
“I didn't want to pressure you.”
“Then why didn't you tell Harper to stop?”
“I thought she was talking about the future.”
“The future.”
“Yes.”
I stared at my son.
“Caleb, your wife was negotiating loans against my house.”
He had no answer.
For several seconds, neither of us spoke.
Then he whispered something I almost did not hear.
“She told me you had promised her.”
I looked at him.
“Promised what?”
“That you wanted us to have the condo.”
I felt something break inside me.
“I never said that.”
“I know.”
He looked up.
“I know now.”
Silence.
Then Caleb reached into his jacket.
“I found something yesterday.”
He placed his phone on the table.
A screenshot.
A message from Harper.
I read it.
Once the paperwork is done, he won't be able to stop us.
I looked at Caleb.
“When did she send this?”
“Three weeks ago.”
I read it again.
“Who is ‘he’?”
Caleb shook his head.
“I don't know.”
I stared at the screen.
Then another message appeared.
Caleb had not opened it yet.
The sender was not Harper.
It was an unknown number.
The message said:
Tell Barbara to check the locked cabinet in her bedroom before Harper gets there first.
My heart began pounding.
I stood immediately.
“Come with me.”
We walked to my bedroom.
The closet door was open.
Harper had apparently searched through my things.
But one cabinet remained locked.
A cabinet I had not opened in months.
I took out the key.
Inserted it.
Turned.
Inside were old bank records, family documents, photographs and letters.
Everything seemed untouched.
Until I reached the back.
There was a thin envelope.
No name.
No return address.
I opened it.
Inside was a photograph.
A woman stood outside a courthouse.
Beside her was a man I recognized.
Not Patrick.
Not Caleb.
Not anyone in our family.
My breath caught.
Because I had seen that man's face before.
In the article about the fraudulent property company.
The same company Harper had hired.
The photograph was dated seven years earlier.
And written on the back in handwriting I recognized as Harper's were six words:
He knows where Barbara's first deed is.
I looked at Caleb.
“Your wife has been planning this for a long time.”
He stared at the photograph.
Then his phone rang.
Harper.
Caleb answered.
He listened.
His face changed.
“What do you mean she's missing?”
He put the call on speaker.
Harper's mother was crying.
“She left the house twenty minutes ago,” she said. “She took the car.”
Patrick had been right.
This was not just about my condo.
May you like
Someone had been waiting for this moment.
And now Harper had disappeared.
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