Chapter 2 - THE DEED I NEVER SIGNEDThe police arrived before anyone could remove the second deed.
An officer photographed the shattered plate, my dress, the tablecloth, and every person seated around the table. Paramedics examined the cut near my temple and advised further evaluation.
Jackson immediately changed his tone.
“It was an accident,” he said. “The plate slipped.”
No one supported him.
But no one contradicted him either.
The officer looked around the room.
“Twenty people witnessed an accident, and no one can describe how it happened?”
Genesis folded her hands.
“This family does not discuss private matters with strangers.”
I almost smiled.
She still believed silence was authority.
I gave the officer my account. Then I showed him both deeds.
The legitimate one identified me as the sole owner.
The second claimed I had transferred the property to Bennett Residential Partners for ten dollars and “family consideration.”
“Who prepared this?” the officer asked.
Genesis answered before Jackson could.
“Our attorney.”
“Name?”
“Arthur Sloan.”
I knew him.
Arthur handled several commercial permits for Jackson’s father. He had also notarized documents at our wedding.
The forged deed contained a notary seal under his name.
The officer requested that Genesis surrender the original.
She refused until legal counsel instructed her by phone that interference would only create additional problems.
Jackson was removed from the dining room for questioning. There was no dramatic final arrest or immediate outcome, but he was not permitted to return home with me that night.
At the hospital, I called my attorney, Maya Chen.
She reviewed photographs of the forged deed.
“This was recorded,” she said.
“What?”
“The document number is visible. Someone submitted it to the county.”
My stomach dropped.
A forgery hidden in a drawer was an attempted crime.
A recorded deed could affect ownership, refinancing, or sale.
Maya searched the property database.
The apartment still appeared under my name publicly.
But a pending correction notice had been filed two weeks earlier, claiming the original transfer was delayed because of a clerical error.
“They were preparing to complete it,” Maya said.
“Why pressure me at dinner if they believed the transfer already existed?”
“To make you sign a confirmation.”
I remembered the folder beside Genesis’s chair.
She had called it an occupancy agreement.
If I signed it during dinner, they could argue I knowingly accepted her ownership and tenancy.
The assault may have been intended to frighten me into signing afterward.
Maya asked for access to my shared household files.
Jackson synchronized his laptop to our home network and often left passwords saved.
I gave her lawful access to documents stored in our joint drive.
Within minutes, she found a folder titled St. Paul Transition.
Inside were renovation estimates, moving schedules, and photographs of my apartment taken while I was at work.
Someone had entered without my permission.
Genesis had selected paint colors.
Robert had requested removal of a wall.
Jackson’s brother had priced the furniture.
They had been planning for months.
Then Maya opened a financing application.
Bennett Residential Partners had requested a $640,000 loan using my apartment as collateral.
The loan had already been conditionally approved.
The applicant was not Genesis.
It was Jackson.
The stated purpose was to finance a luxury assisted-living project.
I stared at the screen.
“He was using my apartment to borrow money for another business.”
“Not exactly,” Maya said.
She opened the corporate registration.
Bennett Residential Partners had been created by Genesis.
Its managing member was Arthur Sloan.
And forty percent of the company belonged to someone named Olivia Grant.
I knew that name too.
Olivia was Jackson’s former fiancée.
May you like
The woman he claimed he had not spoken to in seven years.
Cliffhanger: Jackson’s mother wanted my apartment, but the company attempting to borrow against it belonged partly to the woman Jackson nearly married before me.
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