Chapter 4 - SOMEONE HAD BEEN READING MY PRIVATE EMAILS
Elena read the anonymous message twice.
Then she looked at me.
“Whoever sent this knows something about your transaction.”
“Could it be Mark?”
“Possibly. But I wouldn't assume anything yet.”
Rachel frowned.
“Why would Mark tell Claire how to expose him?”
“People make strange decisions when they're afraid,” Elena replied. “Sometimes they're testing what someone knows. Sometimes they're trying to shift blame.”
I looked at the message again.
Check who accessed your closing file.
It was the kind of warning that made sense only if someone already knew where to look.
Elena contacted Julia, my real estate agent, and the title company.
By that afternoon, we had arranged a conversation with the title company's operations manager, Sarah Mitchell.
Sarah was a woman in her late fifties who spoke with the precise caution of someone accustomed to dealing with large financial transactions.
She explained that my closing documents had been delivered through a secure online portal.
Access links had been sent to my personal email address.
“Did anyone else have permission to access my file?” I asked.
“Our records show one authorized purchaser,” Sarah answered. “You.”
“Then how would somebody else obtain the information?”
“Someone could have accessed documents through your email account or obtained copies from a person who received them. We're reviewing our own access records as well.”
I suddenly remembered something.
During our marriage, Mark had managed most of our household technology.
He set up our internet service.
Our phone plans.
Our streaming subscriptions.
Even the recovery information for several email accounts.
After the divorce, I'd changed my passwords.
But I'd never checked the recovery settings on every account.
I opened my laptop.
Rachel watched as I navigated to my email security page.
There it was.
Recovery phone number.
The last four digits made my stomach drop.
4826\.
Mark's old personal cellphone number.
A number he'd used for more than a decade.
“Claire?” Rachel asked.
I swallowed.
“I forgot to remove his number.”
We checked recent security activity.
There had been several unfamiliar account sessions.
One had occurred just before I signed the purchase contract.
Another appeared the morning my closing documents were delivered.
I didn't immediately know whether they belonged to Mark, but the pattern made me uneasy.
I took screenshots and showed Elena.
“Don't try to investigate his devices yourself,” she said. “Preserve what you can access lawfully. Then secure your account.”
I changed the password again.
Removed the old recovery number.
Signed out other sessions.
Enabled additional security protections.
For the first time, I realized that changing my address and getting a divorce hadn't necessarily removed Mark from the hidden corners of my life.
He'd spent twenty-seven years learning my routines.
My passwords.
My habits.
The people I trusted.
And I'd spent eleven days believing a locked front door was enough to keep him away.
Sarah eventually confirmed that the closing portal had been accessed several times using the link sent to my email. She couldn't yet identify who was behind every session, but she agreed to preserve the relevant records.
Elena requested that the title company retain the access logs, delivery records, and correspondence.
Then she explained another possibility.
“Mark may have been following your purchase before you realized it.”
I thought about all the houses I'd toured.
The evenings I'd spent comparing neighborhoods.
The photographs I'd saved.
The spreadsheets I'd created to decide how much I could comfortably spend.
I'd imagined those were private moments.
A middle-aged woman planning a new life.
Now I wondered whether Mark had been watching those plans unfold.
That evening, Rachel and I drove past Willow Creek Drive.
We didn't stop.
We simply turned onto the street and passed the house slowly.
The moving truck was gone.
Mark's car remained in the driveway.
Lights glowed through my living room windows.
Vanessa had hung cream-colored curtains over the windows.
My curtains.
My house.
My fresh start.
Rachel reached for my hand.
“Don't look at it too long.”
I nodded.
But as we passed, I noticed something that made my chest tighten.
A small ceramic bird sat on the front porch railing.
It was painted white, with a cracked blue wing.
My father had given it to me shortly before he died.
I'd wrapped it carefully and placed it in a box labeled FAMILY KEEPSAKES.
Someone had opened that box.
Someone had taken out the bird.
And someone had left it outside where it could easily fall and break.
I turned toward Rachel.
“They're going through my things.”
She looked back at the house.
“Claire, don't stop.”
“I know.”
But my hands were trembling.
Mark hadn't simply stolen access to a building.
He'd entered the place where I'd stored pieces of my past.
That night, I received a voicemail from him.
His voice was cheerful.
Almost playful.
“Claire, you're making this harder than it has to be. We can settle everything if you're willing to be reasonable.”
A pause.
Then he added:
“By the way, Vanessa found some beautiful old photographs. You really should've unpacked before leaving town.”
The voicemail ended.
I listened to it twice.
Then I forwarded a copy to Elena.
Twenty minutes later, my mother called.
I almost ignored her.
But something told me to answer.
“Claire,” she said, “I need to see you.”
“Why?”
“I have something to explain.”
“You can explain it over the phone.”
“No. Please.”
She sounded exhausted.
I thought about the forged witness signature.
The electronic door code.
The documents I'd never authorized.
“Mom, tell me one thing first.”
“What?”
“Did you know Mark was accessing my email?”
“No!”
“Did you give him any documents from my old files?”
Silence.
My heart sank.
“Mom?”
Her voice became barely audible.
“He came to my apartment looking for a folder.”
“What folder?”
“The one with your father's papers.”
I closed my eyes.
I knew exactly which folder she meant.
It contained family property records, old authorizations, and documents from the final years of my father's life.
Including the original paperwork bearing the signature Mark appeared to have copied.
I gripped the phone.
“Did you give it to him?”
“He said he needed something from it.”
“What did he take?”
“I don't know.”
“Mom.”
She began crying.
“I should've stopped him.”
I sat motionless.
Then she whispered:
“Claire, there's something else. Mark didn't just come looking for your signature.”
May you like
A terrible feeling settled over me.
“He was looking for an old power of attorney.”
