Chapter 3 - THE LOAN MY FATHER HAD NO RIGHT TO TAKEFor several seconds, I couldn't speak.
The wind moved through the pine trees behind my mother.
Somewhere beyond the gate, a restoration truck reversed with a steady mechanical beep.
Everything around us continued normally.
But my world had tilted.
“Mom,” I said carefully, “what exactly did Dad tell you?”
She wrapped her arms around herself.
“I heard him talking to a man on the phone about the house.”
“When?”
“Maybe three weeks ago.”
“What did he say?”
“That the Tahoe property would cover everything.”
“Everything?”
“The money he owed.”
My jaw tightened.
“What money?”
She looked down.
“Your father made some investments.”
“How much?”
“I don't know the full amount.”
“Mom, please stop protecting him.”
Her eyes filled.
“He told me he could lose the family home.”
I felt a painful flash of recognition.
Three years earlier, just weeks after James's funeral, Dad had used those exact words to convince me to give him $50,000.
We could lose the family home.
And I had handed over the money because I couldn't bear another loss.
“Did he tell you who lent him the money?”
“No.”
“Did he say I had agreed to anything?”
She hesitated.
“Mom.”
“He said you would understand once he explained.”
I looked away toward the villa.
The house I had paid for.
The place where James and I had planned our future.
My father had apparently been treating it like an asset he could spend.
“You need to tell Michael everything you know,” I said.
Mom shook her head.
“Your father will never forgive me.”
I looked directly at her.
“Then perhaps you should ask yourself why telling the truth requires his forgiveness.”
She began crying.
I didn't embrace her.
Not because I wanted to punish her.
Because for the first time in my life, I understood that comforting my mother had often meant helping her avoid confronting my father.
And I was finished doing that.
Michael received the preliminary title search results that evening.
We sat at the kitchen island, surrounded by photographs of the damaged rooms and receipts from the restoration company.
He opened his laptop.
“Rebecca, the recorded deed still identifies you as the sole owner.”
Relief moved through me.
Then I noticed his expression.
“But?”
“There is a recently recorded document that needs investigation.”
He turned the laptop toward me.
The document appeared to be a deed of trust connected to a private loan.
The borrower was listed as Rebecca Hayes.
The amount was $680,000.
I stared at the number.
Six hundred and eighty thousand dollars.
“That's impossible.”
Michael nodded.
“I expected you'd say that.”
“I've never borrowed that amount.”
“Have you signed any property financing documents in the last year?”
“No.”
“Authorized anyone to sign for you?”
“Absolutely not.”
He enlarged the document.
Near the bottom was a signature.
My signature.
Or something designed to resemble it.
The letters were close enough that a stranger might not immediately notice the difference.
But I saw it at once.
The capital R was wrong.
And the final stroke of Hayes curved upward in a way I had never written.
“That's forged.”
Michael leaned back.
“We'll obtain certified copies and investigate the recording and notarization. We need to establish exactly what happened.”
“Who filed it?”
“The paperwork identifies a private lending entity. But the filing doesn't prove the underlying loan is valid.”
“Can they take my house?”
“A suspicious recorded document can create serious problems, but it doesn't automatically give someone lawful ownership. We'll take prompt action to dispute it.”
I pressed my palms against the counter.
“Dad signed my name.”
“We don't know that yet.”
“Who else would have done it?”
“Rebecca.”
I looked at him.
“We need evidence, not just a reasonable suspicion.”
I knew he was right.
But my heart was pounding.
The $680,000 explained why Dad had been so desperate.
It explained why he wanted Olivia living in the villa.
And it might explain why he had left that strange letter in James's chest.
I picked up my phone.
Seventeen missed calls from Olivia.
Six from Dad.
Two from David.
I selected Dad's number.
Michael held up one hand.
“I'd prefer you not confront him until we've secured the records.”
I stopped.
Then the phone rang before I could put it down.
Olivia.
I answered on speaker.
“What?”
Her voice was sharp.
“You've ruined everything.”
“That's an interesting accusation.”
“David says we might have to move into a hotel. Do you have any idea what that costs with three children?”
“You can stay somewhere safe while the house is repaired.”
“Your house? Your house? You think you're better than everybody because you wear that uniform?”
“No, Olivia. I think the person whose name is on the deed owns the property.”
She laughed bitterly.
“Well, maybe you should look at the documents again.”
Michael straightened.
“What documents?” I asked.
Olivia went quiet.
Then she said something that made my blood turn cold.
“Dad told me the money was already approved.”
“What money?”
She didn't answer.
“Olivia, what money?”
Her breathing quickened.
Then she whispered:
“Rebecca, if that loan doesn't go through, they're going to come after all of us.”
Before I could respond, another voice appeared in the background.
My father.
“Olivia! Hang up the phone!”
The call ended.
Michael and I stared at each other.
Then his laptop chimed.
A new message had arrived from the title company.
He opened the attachment.
There was a copy of a notarization page associated with the disputed loan.
And beside the forged signature was the name of the person who had supposedly verified my identity.
OLIVIA BENNETT.
May you like
My sister.
The woman who had just claimed she knew nothing.
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