Chapter 7 - The Anniversary Vacation Was a DistractionFor several seconds, I couldn't speak.
The café continued around us.
A barista called out an order.
A woman laughed near the entrance.
Someone dropped a spoon.
Ordinary life continued while my understanding of the previous six months collapsed.
“Someone wanted me away from the lake house?” I repeated.
My mother looked at Rachel.
Then back at me.
“Adrian said the timing was important.”
“What timing?”
“I don't know.”
“Mom.”
“He wanted the rental guests to arrive before you could interfere.”
I stared at her.
“So the lake house rental and the Napa anniversary were connected?”
She nodded.
“Yes.”
Suddenly, the timeline made a terrible kind of sense.
The anniversary trip was supposed to begin on Saturday.
My mother had excluded me on Thursday.
Sabine had already arranged for renters to occupy the Wisconsin property that same weekend.
The trip would put my parents, Sabine, Nolan, and Nolan's visiting family hundreds of miles away in Napa Valley.
And I was supposed to remain in Chicago, believing the lake house was empty.
My mother had counted on that.
Adrian had counted on it.
No one had counted on me canceling the vacation and driving to Wisconsin.
“Why the six renters?” I asked.
My mother swallowed.
“Adrian said a legitimate rental history would help the company qualify for financing.”
“By legitimate, you mean people who really paid money?”
“Yes.”
“Even though the company had no right to rent the property?”
She looked down.
Rachel leaned forward.
“Did Adrian ask you to have the guests occupy the property before any lender inspection?”
My mother's expression changed.
It was subtle.
But I saw it.
“Yes,” she whispered.
I felt sick.
There had been an inspection planned.
A physical demonstration that Kellan Family Properties controlled the property.
Perhaps a lender's representative.
Perhaps an appraiser.
Perhaps someone else connected to the financing arrangement.
I looked at Rachel.
She was already writing.
“Who was coming to the house?” I asked.
My mother shook her head.
“I don't know.”
“Was it a lender?”
“I think so.”
“On what day?”
“Monday.”
My pulse accelerated.
The same Monday that had been Sabine's supposed deadline.
Rachel looked up.
“Mrs. Kellan, did Adrian arrange the guests' booking, or did Sabine?”
“Sabine.”
“Who selected the family?”
My mother hesitated.
“She said they responded to an advertisement.”
That answered one question.
The three additional guests in Napa were Nolan's parents and his sister, invited by my mother and Sabine.
The six strangers in Wisconsin were an entirely separate group, the Mercer family, who had rented my house through Sabine's unauthorized listing.
Both arrangements served the same purpose.
To support a lie.
I looked at my mother.
“How many other reservations did Sabine accept?”
She pressed her lips together.
“I don't know.”
“Mom, you told me there were four or five.”
“She showed me a calendar.”
“Where?”
“At her apartment.”
“Did it include my house?”
“Yes.”
“Anything else?”
My mother's eyes shifted.
I felt my stomach tighten.
“What else?”
She whispered:
“Your condominium.”
I stopped breathing.
“My Chicago condominium?”
She nodded.
I stared at her.
I had spent eight years saving for that apartment.
It was my first major purchase after paying off my law-school loans.
My home.
The place where I lived.
The place where I slept.
“Explain.”
My mother began crying again.
“Adrian wanted Sabine to build a portfolio of luxury properties.”
“You listed my home?”
“We never rented it!”
“That wasn't my question.”
She looked away.
“Sabine put photographs online.”
I reached for my phone.
My hands were shaking now.
I searched for the listing.
Nothing appeared immediately.
Then Rachel quietly said:
“Meredith, stop.”
I looked at her.
“Why?”
“Because this needs to be handled methodically. We need to preserve evidence and determine exactly what's been advertised.”
I stared at my mother.
She had used my lake house.
She had helped someone create false documents.
She had treated my anniversary gift as a way to impress strangers.
And now she was admitting that even my primary residence had become part of their plans.
I felt violated in a way I couldn't describe.
My mother reached toward me.
“Sweetheart—”
“Don't.”
She withdrew her hand.
I took a slow breath.
“I'm going to ask you one final question.”
She nodded.
“Did you ever intend to tell me?”
She began to speak.
Then stopped.
Her silence was answer enough.
I picked up my handbag.
Rachel stood beside me.
“Meredith, please,” my mother whispered.
I looked at her.
For a moment, I saw the woman who had braided my hair before school and sat beside me when I was sick.
I remembered her making pancakes on Sunday mornings.
I remembered her cheering during my middle-school spelling bee.
Then I looked at the woman who had deliberately placed my financial security at risk.
And I understood something painful.
Good memories didn't erase bad decisions.
“I love you, Mom.”
Her face crumpled.
“But I don't trust you.”
I walked away.
Outside, the late-afternoon air felt cold against my face.
Rachel waited until we reached the car.
Then she said:
“We need to check your condominium immediately.”
I nodded.
I lived twenty minutes away.
The drive felt endless.
When we arrived, my building's doorman, Mr. Alvarez, greeted me with his usual warm smile.
“Good afternoon, Ms. Kellan.”
“Hi, Luis.”
His expression changed when he saw my face.
“Is something wrong?”
“Possibly. Has anyone been asking about my apartment?”
He hesitated.
“Actually, yes.”
My stomach dropped.
“Who?”
“A woman came by last week. She said she was your sister.”
I gripped my handbag.
“Sabine?”
“Yes.”
“What did she want?”
“She said she was helping you arrange a long-term rental while you traveled.”
I felt dizzy.
“Did you let her upstairs?”
“No, ma'am.”
Relief washed through me.
Mr. Alvarez continued.
“She didn't have authorization on file. I told her I couldn't allow access without your approval.”
I nearly hugged him.
“Thank you.”
He looked concerned.
“She wasn't happy.”
“I can imagine.”
He hesitated.
“There was a man with her.”
My pulse quickened.
“What did he look like?”
“Dark hair. Expensive suit. Maybe forty. He kept asking whether the building had a master access system.”
Rachel and I exchanged a glance.
Adrian.
“What did you tell him?”
“That all access requests had to go through building management.”
Mr. Alvarez nodded toward the security desk.
“We have camera footage if you need it.”
I almost cried with relief.
“Please preserve it.”
“Of course.”
Upstairs, Rachel and I reviewed my apartment.
Nothing appeared disturbed.
But when I opened my mailbox, I found a thick envelope from a title-services company.
It was addressed to me.
Inside was a notice requesting confirmation of my identity for a proposed financing transaction involving Kellan Family Properties LLC.
The document referenced two assets.
My Wisconsin lake house.
And my Chicago condominium.
Rachel read it carefully.
Then she looked at me.
“Meredith, this isn't just about your family's debts anymore.”
I stared at the page.
The proposed financing amount was listed as:
$1,250,000.
My knees weakened.
A million and a quarter.
The scheme was vastly larger than anything my mother had admitted.
Then Rachel pointed toward a line near the bottom of the notice.
“Look at the contact email.”
I leaned closer.
The proposed transaction coordinator wasn't Sabine.
It wasn't Adrian.
It wasn't my mother.
It was someone whose name I recognized immediately.
Someone who had access to my professional records.
Someone who knew how I signed legal documents.
Someone who worked in my own office.
May you like
Ethan Cole.
My firm's senior contracts administrator.
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