Chapter 12 - THE COURTHOUSE
At 8:12 the next morning, we stood before a judge.
Samuel argued that the deed was fraudulent.
Kane’s attorneys argued that their company relied on public records in good faith.
Then Samuel handed over the emails from the flash drive.
The courtroom changed.
One email from Kane to Derek read:
“If your sister contests title, that becomes her problem after sale.”
Another:
“Make sure mother’s affidavit is signed. It gives us cover.”
Kane’s attorney asked for a recess.
The judge refused.
The foreclosure was temporarily blocked.
But that wasn’t all.
The judge ordered the fraudulent deed flagged.
Westbridge Holdings could not sell, transfer, borrow against, or otherwise touch the property until the dispute was resolved.
For the first time in days, I breathed.
Outside the courthouse, reporters were waiting.
Apparently, someone had leaked the case.
Cameras surrounded Victor Kane as he exited.
“Mr. Kane, did your company knowingly accept a fraudulent deed?”
“Mr. Kane, are you under investigation?”
He ignored them.
Then he saw me.
His face hardened.
“You think you won?”
I stopped.
Samuel whispered,
“Don’t engage.”
But Kane stepped closer.
“Your brother came to me desperate. Your family created this problem.”
“No.”
I looked at him.
“You saw desperate people and decided they were profitable.”
His smile disappeared.
Detectives approached behind him.
“Victor Kane?”
He turned.
“You need to come with us.”
His attorney rushed forward.
“On what basis?”
“Fraud investigation.”
Kane looked at me one last time.
Then officers escorted him away.
I should have felt victorious.
Instead, I thought about Mom sleeping next to detergent for two years.
No court order could erase that.
When I returned home, she was in the backyard.
For one horrifying second, I thought she was cleaning again.
Then I saw the gardening gloves.
She was planting flowers.
I sat beside her.
“What are you doing?”
She smiled.
“I forgot I liked this.”
That nearly made me cry.
We spent the afternoon clearing the patio.
Not because anyone ordered her.
Because she wanted to.
Later, we moved her belongings back into the upstairs bedroom.
I carried the folding bed to the garage.
Mom touched the quilt I had bought her years ago.
“I thought Melissa threw this away.”
“I found it in a storage box.”
She held it against her chest.
Then she whispered,
“Do you think Derek hates me?”
I sat beside her.
“No.”
“How can you know?”
“I don’t.”
I took her hand.
“But whatever he feels doesn’t change what he did.”
She nodded.
The doorbell rang.
A courier handed me an envelope.
Inside was a handwritten letter from Derek.
Rachel,
You think you know everything.
You don’t.
Melissa gave you the flash drive because she wanted a deal.
She left one folder out.
Check the cloud backup.
Password: DAD1962.
I stared at the page.
There was one final line.
“You’re going to hate what you find.”
I opened the cloud account.
And when the files loaded, I saw a folder labeled:
May you like
MOM ACCIDENT.
Inside was a video.
