Chapter 3 - The house he promised someone else
Mitchell tried anger first.
“Those are private financial documents.”
“We’re married.”
“That doesn’t give you permission to go through my things.”
Megan almost laughed.
“You may want to save the legal theories until you have counsel.”
Mitchell finally noticed her briefcase.
His confidence shifted.
Theresa pointed at me.
“She’s trying to steal your house.”
I looked at her.
“My house?”
“Our family home!”
There it was.
Our.
Theresa had lived there so long that she had forgotten she was a guest.
I turned toward Mitchell.
“Did you promise this townhouse to your girlfriend?”
Silence.
Patricia looked uncomfortable.
Then she pulled out one final photograph.
A close shot taken through the cabin’s open deck doors.
Mitchell sat beside the blonde woman at a table.
A folder lay between them.
Patricia said:
“I heard them arguing.”
“About what?”
“The house.”
Mitchell snapped:
“You were spying on me?”
Patricia ignored him.
“The woman asked when she could move in.”
I looked at Mitchell.
“And?”
Patricia continued.
“He said after the divorce.”
Theresa stepped forward.
“Even if he did, that’s between husband and wife.”
Megan replied:
“It certainly is.”
She opened my green folder.
The room became quiet.
The townhouse had been purchased for $610,000.
My inheritance contribution had been $145,000.
I had also paid a disproportionate share of mortgage expenses during several years when Mitchell claimed business difficulties.
Everything documented.
Then Megan found another issue.
A home-equity inquiry.
My signature appeared on it.
Except I had never signed it.
I stared.
“What is this?”
Mitchell moved toward the table.
Megan covered the document.
“Don’t.”
His face tightened.
I studied the signature.
It looked like mine.
Almost.
But the D in Danielle curved incorrectly.
A tiny difference.
One my grandmother had taught me when I first learned cursive.
“Mitchell.”
He said nothing.
“Did you sign my name?”
“No.”
Theresa immediately said:
“He would never.”
Too quickly.
I looked at her.
Then remembered something.
Three months earlier, Theresa had asked me to sign a birthday card while I was cooking.
She had watched carefully.
Very carefully.
My stomach turned.
“What did you two do?”
Nobody answered.
Then Mitchell’s phone lit up on the counter.
A woman’s name appeared.
Vanessa.
Message preview:
Did she sign yet?
Megan and I looked at each other.
May you like
Whatever they were planning, it had not been completed.
That meant we still had time.
