Chapter 8 - WHO WAS LYING?
Matthew grabbed the phone.
“What?”
He read the message again.
Then looked at me.
“Are you recording this?”
“No.”
“Mom.”
“I said no.”
He looked toward the house.
“Then why would she say that?”
“Because she wants you afraid of me.”
He paced across the porch.
“I don’t know who to believe anymore.”
I almost laughed.
“That makes two of us.”
His phone rang.
Jessica.
He rejected it.
She called again.
And again.
Finally he answered.
“What?”
I could hear her shouting through the speaker.
“You’re at her house, aren’t you?”
“Yes.”
“Leave.”
“No.”
“You don’t know what she’s doing.”
“What are you talking about?”
“She’s trying to turn you against me.”
Matthew closed his eyes.
“You used Mom’s signature.”
“So did you!”
There it was.
He looked at me.
Jessica kept talking.
“You signed the loan application. Don’t stand there pretending you’re innocent.”
Matthew whispered, “You told me Mom agreed.”
A long silence.
Then Jessica said, “We discussed it.”
“With who?”
“With you!”
“No. You said Mom told you she would help.”
I watched his face collapse.
Jessica’s voice turned cold.
“You knew what we needed.”
“That isn’t the same thing.”
“Oh, grow up, Matthew.”
He looked sick.
Then he asked, “Did you submit the deed without telling me?”
Silence.
“Jessica.”
“I was fixing the problem.”
“You forged my mother’s name.”
“You used her signature first!”
“That was the bank application. You told me she approved it!”
“So now everything is my fault?”
The call ended.
Matthew stared at the phone.
I didn’t comfort him.
He had still used my identity.
Maybe Jessica lied to him about my approval.
Maybe she didn’t.
But a forty-six-year-old man knew he should speak directly to the owner before borrowing against her home.
“You need a lawyer,” I said.
He looked at me.
“Are you pressing charges?”
“I’m telling the truth.”
“Same thing.”
“No. It isn’t.”
He sat back down.
“I thought you’d say yes.”
“That keeps coming up.”
“I knew you’d want to help.”
“Wanting to help is not consent.”
He nodded slowly.
I looked at the texts again.
“Send me copies.”
“Okay.”
“And Daniel.”
He hesitated.
Then nodded.
That evening, Louise and I decorated the tree again.
Not the silver one Jessica had created.
My tree.
The ugly one.
The beautiful one.
Matthew’s paper angel went near the top.
My mother’s glass bell hung by the window.
George’s crooked star leaned to the left just like always.
Louise stepped back.
“Perfect.”
“It’s crooked.”
“Exactly.”
At 9:30 p.m., Daniel called.
He had reviewed the screenshots Matthew sent.
“There’s enough here to suggest Jessica was acting independently on the deed.”
I sat down.
“So Matthew didn’t know?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“What are you saying?”
“Some messages support his claim. Other evidence doesn’t.”
“What evidence?”
“The electronic deed submission came from an IP address tied to their apartment.”
“That could be Jessica.”
“Yes.”
“So?”
Daniel paused.
“The login used to upload it belongs to Matthew.”
I closed my eyes.
Of course.
“He’s still lying.”
“Maybe.”
“Maybe?”
“There’s another possibility. Shared credentials.”
I stared at the tree lights.
“Daniel, I’m tired of possibilities.”
“I know.”
“What do we know?”
“We know your signature was forged. We know a fraudulent power of attorney was created. We know the deed was submitted. We know Matthew participated in at least the loan application.”
“And Jessica?”
“She appears deeply involved.”
I leaned back.
Then Daniel said, “There’s one more thing.”
My stomach tightened.
“What?”
“I ran Victor Shaw’s name.”
“And?”
“He’s not a licensed private lender.”
“That doesn’t surprise me.”
“Ellie, that isn’t the problem.”
“What is?”
“He has a business partner.”
I waited.
May you like
Daniel said the name slowly.
“Jessica’s father.”
