Chapter 2
My hand remained suspended above the laptop.
Gavin stood several feet behind me.
“What is it?”
“Don’t touch anything.”
I did not open the message.
I did not need to.
The laptop had awakened into Bryce’s email program. Several windows were already visible across the screen.
One was a wire confirmation.
TRANSFER COMPLETED: $150,000.
Sender: Ridgeway Urban Partners.
Recipient: Northline Brand Strategy LLC.
Another window displayed a scanned document titled:
RECORDED QUITCLAIM DEED—214 WILLOWMERE AVENUE.
My address.
At the bottom of the screen was a photograph of a smiling blond woman holding an ultrasound printout.
I recognized her.
Delaney Pierce had attended my company’s product launch nine months earlier. Bryce introduced her as a marketing consultant who might help us reach luxury retailers.
She had shaken my hand, complimented my dress, and accepted a gift bag containing products I had spent ten years creating.
Now her message said she was carrying my husband’s child.
And waiting to move into my home.
I took one photograph of the visible screen with my phone.
Then I stepped away.
Every part of me wanted to seize the laptop and tear through its files until there were no secrets left.
Instead, I called Nadia Patel.
Nadia had advised my skincare company during a supplier dispute two years earlier. She was patient, exacting, and almost impossible to manipulate.
She answered on the fourth ring.
“Sloane?”
“I need a lawyer.”
“You have one.”
“No. I need a different kind.”
I explained the dinner, the laptop, the message, and the deed.
Her voice became sharply focused.
“Do not click anything.”
“I haven’t.”
“Do not search folders. Do not reply to messages. Do not forward files to yourself.”
“It’s in my house.”
“That does not automatically give you unrestricted authority to access your husband’s private accounts or devices. Photograph only what is already displayed, then step away.”
“What about the deed?”
“I’m checking the county records now.”
I heard keys clicking.
Gavin sat at the bottom of the stairs, his arms wrapped around his knees.
Nadia went silent.
“How is title currently held?” she asked.
“Solely in my name. I bought the property before marriage.”
“Have you ever signed a deed transferring it?”
“No.”
“Added Bryce to the title?”
“No.”
“Created a family trust?”
“No.”
“Signed documents in front of a notary named Elaine Pruitt?”
“I don’t know anyone by that name.”
Nadia breathed out slowly.
“A quitclaim deed was recorded three days ago. It appears to transfer the property from you individually to Langford Residential Holdings LLC.”
The hall tilted beneath me.
“Who owns that company?”
“The manager listed with the state is Marlene Langford.”
For several seconds, I could not speak.
The house did not vanish because someone recorded a forged deed. Nadia explained that quickly. A forged deed could be challenged and declared void. But until a court acted, the recorded document clouded the title and could be used to support another transaction.
“Is there a loan?” I asked.
“I’m searching.”
The laptop chimed again.
A new message from Delaney appeared.
Bryce? Are you there? You said the deed was finished.
Gavin saw my expression.
“What did he do?”
“I don’t know yet.”
Nadia instructed me to photograph the new notification without touching the keyboard.
Then she asked whether Bryce could return.
“He still has keys.”
“Do not destroy his access tonight. This has been the marital residence, and occupancy rights are more complicated than title. Keep the doors locked for safety, but do not dispose of his belongings or pretend a lock change resolves anything.”
“What do I do with the laptop?”
“Leave it where it is. I’ll contact a digital-evidence attorney and determine the proper preservation procedure.”
“What if Bryce comes back for it?”
“You do not physically stop him. Document the request. I’m also preparing an emergency filing concerning the property.”
I looked toward the dining room.
Gravy had dried on the white tablecloth.
Marlene’s wine remained half-finished.
An hour earlier, that stain had seemed like the center of the evening.
Now it looked almost mercifully simple.
Gavin stood.
“Sloane, there’s something I should tell you.”
“What?”
“When I went upstairs to put my suitcase away, Mrs. Langford was in the hallway talking to Bryce.”
“What did she say?”
“I didn’t hear everything.”
He swallowed.
“She said, ‘By September, the upstairs room will belong to the right baby.’”
The right baby.
I looked at Delaney’s ultrasound photograph glowing on Bryce’s screen.
My phone vibrated with a call from him.
I let it ring.
A text followed.
I left my laptop. Do not touch it.
May you like
Then another.
I am coming back.
