Chapter 2 - The File on Calder's Desk
The truth was hiding in a signature.
Calder's office smelled like paper, coffee, and old leather.
I'd known him for eleven years.
He wasn't the type of man who exaggerated anything.
When he told me something was serious, it was serious.
I sat across from his desk while he opened a thick property file.
“This,” he said, tapping the folder, “is the original purchase agreement.”
He slid it toward me.
My name.
My signature.
My money.
Everything was exactly as I remembered.
“I bought it outright,” I said.
“Yes.”
“No mortgage?”
“No mortgage.”
“Then why did you say someone tried to make me look like I wasn't the owner?”
Calder opened another folder.
“Because six months ago, a document was submitted to the county recorder.”
He placed a copy in front of me.
I stared at the page.
It was a transfer document.
It appeared to move interest in the property from me to a company I'd never heard of.
Brentwood Residential Holdings LLC.
“What is this?”
“That's what I'm trying to determine.”
I looked at the signature line.
My name was printed.
The signature looked similar to mine.
But it wasn't mine.
I knew my own handwriting.
Calder pointed to the date.
“Six months ago.”
“That was the month Trent called me saying the kitchen plumbing had burst.”
I remembered it.
He'd asked me for permission to hire a contractor.
I'd said yes.
He hadn't asked about ownership.
He hadn't asked for anything unusual.
“Could Trent have done this?”
Calder didn't answer immediately.
“His name isn't on the document.”
“Madison?”
“Neither.”
“Then who?”
“That is the question.”
He pulled out another sheet.
“This is a registered agent filing connected to the LLC.”
I read the name.
Richard Hale.
Madison's father.
I sat back.
For several seconds, neither of us spoke.
“That's the man who was at the house yesterday.”
Calder nodded.
“I assumed it might be.”
I looked at the documents again.
“Why would he do this?”
“I don't know.”
“Could this be some kind of mistake?”
“No.”
“Are you sure?”
“I checked twice.”
He turned his laptop toward me.
“There are records showing the LLC was created shortly before the transfer document appeared.”
I felt a cold pressure behind my ribs.
“Why?”
“That's what we're going to find out.”
He opened another file.
“This gets worse.”
I almost laughed.
“Of course it does.”
“Three months after the document was recorded, there was an application for financing using Brentwood as an asset.”
My hand froze.
“A loan?”
“An application.”
“Was it approved?”
“Not according to the records I have.”
“Why?”
“The ownership wasn't clean.”
“That saved me.”
“Possibly.”
I looked at the forged signature.
“What about the actual property title?”
“Still yours.”
I exhaled.
“Then what did they think they were doing?”
Calder leaned forward.
“That's not the part that concerns me most.”
“What does?”
He placed a final document on the desk.
An appraisal.
Brentwood's estimated market value had increased substantially.
Almost three hundred thousand dollars.
I stared at the number.
“They wanted to borrow against the house.”
“That's my assumption.”
“For themselves?”
“More likely for the LLC.”
I leaned back.
“Why would they need that kind of money?”
Calder didn't answer.
Instead, he asked, “How often have Trent and Madison talked to you about the house?”
“Not much.”
“Any unusual conversations?”
I thought.
There had been one.
About eight months earlier.
Trent had casually asked whether I planned to keep Brentwood for the long term.
I'd told him I hadn't decided.
He'd smiled.
“It's worth holding.”
At the time, I thought he meant as an investment.
Now I wondered.
“What else?” I asked.
Calder pulled out a handwritten note.
“This was attached to one of the files.”
I recognized the handwriting.
Not mine.
Madison's.
He read aloud.
“Kent won't sell while he's still emotionally attached to Trent.”
My blood ran cold.
“Where did you get that?”
“From a document packet associated with the LLC.”
I stared at him.
“That's not legal correspondence.”
“No.”
“It was never meant to be seen.”
“Probably not.”
I sat very still.
Then I remembered yesterday.
The doorway.
The boots.
The jacket.
“They weren't embarrassed by me,” I said.
Calder raised an eyebrow.
“No?”
“They were afraid I'd say something.”
He didn't disagree.
I stood.
“What happens now?”
“We verify everything.”
“How?”
“I've already requested records.”
“From whom?”
“All connected entities.”
I looked at the clock.
“Does Trent know?”
“Not that I called the records in.”
“Should I confront him?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because right now, silence is worth more than anger.”
He closed the file.
“Let him think yesterday's conversation was about your feelings.”
I understood immediately.
“While we find out what they've been doing.”
“Yes.”
I picked up my jacket.
As I reached the door, Calder said, “Kent.”
I turned.
“There may be another reason they were so desperate to keep you outside.”
“What reason?”
He hesitated.
“We found a second document.”
He opened the file again.
“This one has nothing to do with the house.”
I walked back.
He turned the page toward me.
At the bottom was a name.
Trent's.
Beside it was a number.
And underneath that was a single sentence:
Personal guarantee for $640,000.
I looked at Calder.
“Who did he guarantee?”
May you like
Calder met my eyes.
“His father-in-law.”
