Chapter 2 - THE HOUSE MY MOTHER BOUGHT
2
I spent that night in one of Christopher’s guest suites under conditions that felt less like freedom than a softer form of confinement.
Two attorneys stayed downstairs.
A private forensic specialist arrived after midnight.
Christopher’s security director occupied the room across the hall.
I was technically released under an emergency judicial stay while the court reviewed new evidence, which meant one mistake could send me straight back into custody.
But none of that mattered as much as Toby.
At 6:12 the next morning, my attorney, Rachel Monroe, entered the breakfast room carrying a yellow legal pad.
“Chad filed the emergency custody petition at 4:03 yesterday afternoon.”
I looked up.
“Before sentencing ended?”
“Yes.”
My stomach tightened.
“He knew what the verdict would be.”
“He knew what sentence he expected.”
“That’s not the same thing.”
Rachel’s expression told me she understood exactly what I meant.
Chad had not merely reacted quickly.
He had prepared.
“How soon was the petition drafted?”
“The document metadata suggests three weeks ago.”
I almost laughed.
Three weeks.
While he was still pretending to be devastated by the trial.
While he was telling journalists he hoped I would “take responsibility.”
While he was sending me messages saying Toby missed me.
Three weeks ago, Chad had already written the paperwork that would remove me from my son’s life.
“Where is Toby?”
“With Chad.”
I stood.
Rachel raised a hand.
“We have a hearing at two.”
“I’m getting my son.”
“If you approach him before the hearing, Chad will claim harassment or instability.”
“Let him.”
“He already has a conviction to point at.”
“Temporarily under review.”
“Still a conviction.”
Christopher entered.
“You will not give Chad another weapon.”
I turned on him.
“Everybody keeps telling me what I won’t do.”
“Because right now you’re angry enough to make predictable decisions.”
“My son is with the man who put me in handcuffs.”
“And if we do this properly, he won’t be by tonight.”
I wanted to hate how calm he was.
Instead, I sat.
Rachel pushed another document toward me.
“This is the house transfer.”
I had seen the deed.
What I hadn’t seen was the closing packet.
There were twelve signatures supposedly belonging to me.
Initials.
Disclosures.
Authorization forms.
A notarized power of attorney.
One signature caught my attention immediately.
The letter G curved differently.
“This isn’t mine.”
“We know.”
“It looks like mine.”
“Because whoever prepared it had excellent samples.”
I thought of tax documents.
Mortgage applications.
My office files.
Chad could have accessed all of them.
Then Rachel slid a photograph across the table.
It showed a notary seal.
The notary listed on the power of attorney was a woman named Danielle Voss.
“Do you know her?”
“No.”
Christopher said, “Chad does.”
I looked up.
“Who is she?”
“She performed document services for one of his companies.”
“What company?”
“Canyon Ridge Advisory.”
The name hit immediately.
“The company paying my mother.”
“Yes.”
“So Chad owns it?”
“Not officially.”
“Who does?”
“A holding company registered in Nevada.”
“And that?”
“Owned by another entity.”
I rubbed my forehead.
“They’re hiding it.”
“Very deliberately.”
My phone rang.
Everyone froze.
Only five people had the number.
The screen displayed MOM.
Christopher and I looked at each other.
“Answer,” he said.
I did.
“Hello?”
My mother’s breathing came through first.
Then her voice.
“Where are you?”
I almost laughed.
“Interesting question coming from the woman who bought my house.”
Silence.
“Genevieve.”
“Did you forge my signature?”
“No.”
“Did you know it was forged?”
Another silence.
That was enough.
“Where is Toby?”
“With Chad.”
“Why did you buy my townhouse?”
“I can explain.”
“Start.”
“This can’t happen over the phone.”
“Why?”
“Because I don’t know who’s listening.”
I glanced at Christopher.
He motioned for me to keep her talking.
“Did Chad pay you?”
“No.”
“Did Canyon Ridge?”
My mother stopped breathing.
I felt the answer through the phone.
“How do you know about that?”
“Because my father has better accountants than my husband.”
Her voice became sharp.
“You spoke to Christopher?”
“I’m sitting beside him.”
The line went dead.
I lowered the phone.
Christopher’s expression had hardened.
“She’s scared.”
“Of you?”
“No.”
“Then who?”
He didn’t answer.
Twenty minutes later, my mother called again.
This time she gave me an address.
A storage facility in Tempe.
Unit 314.
“Come alone,” she said.
Christopher shook his head violently.
I ignored him.
“Why?”
“Because there’s something inside that unit you need to see before Chad realizes I kept it.”
“What?”
“Proof that he knew exactly who you were before you married him.”
My throat tightened.
“Mom—”
“If Chad contacts you, don’t tell him about the trust.”
My eyes moved to Christopher.
“How do you know I know about the trust?”
Silence.
Then she whispered, “Genevieve, there are things I did because I thought I was protecting you.”
I closed my eyes.
“That sentence never means anything good.”
“I know.”
“Did you help Chad?”
“No answer.”
“Mom.”
“He wasn’t supposed to hurt you.”
My stomach dropped.
Christopher rose from his chair.
I whispered, “What does that mean?”
“He promised.”
“Promised what?”
“To leave you out of it.”
“Out of what?”
The line went quiet.
For a moment I thought the call had disconnected.
Then my mother began crying.
Not loudly.
The same controlled crying I remembered from childhood whenever bills arrived.
“Your father thinks your trust is worth seventy-four million dollars,” she whispered.
I looked at Christopher.
“He told me.”
“He’s wrong.”
Christopher’s face changed.
I gripped the phone.
“What are you talking about?”
“The documents he has are old.”
“How old?”
“Genevieve, your grandfather died fourteen years ago.”
Christopher whispered, “Ask her what she knows.”
I did.
My mother’s crying stopped.
“When Christopher’s father died, a second block of shares transferred.”
Christopher became completely still.
“What shares?”
“I can’t do this on the phone.”
“How much?”
“Go to the storage unit.”
“Mom.”
“Please.”
I was losing patience.
“How much is the trust worth?”
My mother whispered something I almost thought I had misunderstood.
“What?”
She repeated it.
“Closer to two hundred million.”
My fingers went numb.
Christopher took the phone from me.
“Eleanor.”
She inhaled sharply.
He had not spoken her name to her in years.
“You will tell me what you did.”
My mother’s voice became strangely calm.
“No, Christopher.”
“You hid amendments to the trust?”
“I hid nothing.”
“Then how do you know about the additional shares?”
“Because your father told me.”
Christopher’s face drained.
“My father despised you.”
“Yes.”
“Why would he discuss Genevieve’s trust with you?”
“Because he knew something about you that she doesn’t.”
I looked at my father.
Christopher gripped his cane so hard his knuckles whitened.
“What?”
Mom continued.
“And if Chad finds out what’s in Unit 314, none of the money will matter.”
A sound came through the phone.
A door opening.
Mom stopped speaking.
“Who’s there?” I asked.
Nothing.
“Mom?”
A man’s voice sounded faintly in the background.
We couldn’t hear the words.
My mother whispered, “No.”
Then something fell.
“Mom?”
The line disconnected.
I stood.
Christopher was already calling security.
We reached the storage facility forty-two minutes later.
Unit 314 was open.
The padlock had been cut.
Shelves had been emptied.
Cardboard boxes had been ripped apart.
My mother was gone.
But not everything had been taken.
On the concrete floor, beneath a broken plastic bin, I found an envelope with my name written in my mother’s handwriting.
Inside was an old photograph.
Chad.
My mother.
And a third man.
On the back, someone had written:
MARCH 18 — FIRST MEETING ABOUT GENEVIEVE.
The photograph had been taken nearly nine years ago.
Eighteen months before Chad supposedly met me.
Beneath it was a printed email.
Only one sentence had been highlighted.
MAKE HER LOVE YOU FIRST. EVERYTHING ELSE BECOMES EASIER AFTER THAT.
I read the sender’s name twice.
Then a third time.
The email had not been sent by Chad.
May you like
It had been sent to him.
By my mother.
