Chapter 8 - The Buyer
The buyer wasn’t a criminal mastermind.
He was a retired contractor named Ben Wallace who arrived at Helen’s office carrying a folder and looking sick.
“My wife picked out curtains,” he said.
Emily sat across from him.
“I’m sorry.”
He shook his head.
“You don’t owe me an apology.”
Vanessa had presented herself as the family’s authorized property manager. Paul had supplied supporting paperwork. A deposit had gone into an account described as an escrow arrangement.
The sale hadn’t closed.
The real title review had barely begun.
Vanessa’s plan depended on getting Emily’s signature before anyone asked questions she couldn’t answer.
“And if I wouldn’t sign?” Emily asked.
Helen laid out the forged removal authorization.
“Then someone was already practicing.”
Ben identified the photographs Vanessa had shown him.
One pictured the basement cabinet.
“What did she say about that?” Luca asked.
“That it was a family piece. Excluded from the sale. Had to be removed before inspection.”
Emily looked at me.
So the house wasn’t just money.
It was access.
A reason to send strangers inside.
A deadline to rush Emily.
A way to make missing papers look like moving-day confusion.
Helen’s phone rang.
She listened, wrote something down, and asked the caller to send the records.
When she hung up, her expression sharpened.
“The company behind the deposit account has two authorized signers.”
“Vanessa and Paul?” I asked.
“Paul and a manager who says he follows Paul’s instructions.”
Luca leaned back.
“Where is Paul?”
“At his office this morning. Investigators have asked him to preserve records.”
“Asked.”
Helen met his eyes.
“Yes. That is how this starts.”
His phone buzzed.
Vanessa.
He put it on speaker with Helen’s permission.
“Luca, I made mistakes,” she said.
Nobody spoke.
“I was jealous. I’ll admit that. But this property business is Paul’s.”
“Then explain the men at Maple Street.”
“He told me the papers belonged to you.”
“You told my daughter I was ashamed of her.”
Her breathing changed.
“That has nothing to do with the money.”
“It has everything to do with why I believed you.”
A pause.
Then her voice hardened.
“You think Claire is some saint? Ask her what she’s getting out of this.”
I leaned toward the phone.
“My father’s name.”
Vanessa went silent.
Then she said, “Paul won’t let you have it.”
The call ended.
A moment later, Helen’s assistant appeared in the doorway.
“There’s a delivery for Ms. Dawson.”
May you like
Inside the envelope was a photograph of my mother’s house.
Taken that morning.
