Chapter 4
He looked at me then — really looked at me — and something in his expression shifted from irritation to something colder.
"Diane, Madison and Connor are going to inherit this property eventually.
We're simply helping the family get some use out of it in the meantime.
You should be thanking us."
The word *thanking* hit me like a slap.
Before I could respond, my phone buzzed in my pocket.
I glanced down.
It was Alan Mercer.
My buyer.
Already in the driveway.
And standing just outside the glass door behind Richard, I noticed a folder sitting open on the patio table — papers I hadn't left there, with what looked like my signature at the bottom.
---
What is in that folder — and did someone forge Diane's name?
The full story gets darker from here.
Click the link below to read everything.
👇
* * *
# CHAPTER 3: What Was Written on Those Pages
I held up one finger toward the glass door, signaling Alan Mercer to wait.
He was standing beside his silver SUV, hands in his jacket pockets, reading something on his phone.
He hadn't come inside yet.
Good.
I crossed the great room without another word to Richard, slid the glass door open, and stepped onto the patio.
The folder was sitting on the teak table beside an empty coffee mug that wasn't mine.
A breeze off the lake had pushed the top page slightly sideways, and that was the only reason I could see it clearly — the signature line at the bottom, with my name written in ink below it.
Diane Calloway.
I picked up the folder.
It was a property management agreement.
Three pages, single-spaced, with the letterhead of a company called Pend Oreille Property Solutions printed across the top.
The agreement authorized a named property manager to lease, rent, and collect revenue on behalf of the registered owner for a period of twenty-four months, beginning April 1st.
May you like
The property address was mine.
The signature at the bottom claimed to be mine.
