PART 4

I felt something sink inside me.

“What did you tell her?”

“That it was yours.”

“And?”

“And I said eventually you’d probably leave it to me.”

I looked down at my coffee.

“Eventually.”

“I didn’t mean now.”

“I know.”

“She asked whether you’d ever sell it.”

“What did you say?”

“I said I didn’t think so.”

“Why?”

“Because Dad built it.”

That answer hurt.

In a strange way, it comforted me too.

At least my son remembered.

He remembered the reason I had kept that place.

James leaned forward.

“Mom, I swear I didn’t know she was planning all this.”

His eyes narrowed.

“What money?”

I pushed the printed transaction history toward him.

He read the first page.

Then the second.

His face slowly lost color.

“I didn’t take this.”

“Do you recognize the payments?”

He stared at the vendor names.

“The contractor…”

“Yes?”

“That was the company that renovated the kitchen at our house.”

I looked at him.

“You told me that was covered by your savings.”

“It was supposed to be.”

“Who paid the deposit?”

“I don’t know.”

“Look at the next one.”

He did.

The furniture company.

His face changed again.

“Briana bought those.”

“With what?”

He shook his head.

“I thought she used her credit card.”

“Apparently not.”

He sat back.

For several seconds, he said nothing.

Then he whispered:

“How much is left?”

“Twelve thousand three hundred.”

He closed his eyes.

“I didn’t know.”

“I believe you.”

His eyes opened.

“You do?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because if you knew, you wouldn’t look this shocked.”

He looked away.

“Mom, I don’t know what to say.”

“Then don’t say anything yet.”

I reached for the envelope.

“There is something else.”

I handed him the voicemail transcript.

He read it.

Then read it again.

His hands began to tremble.

“She told him I knew?”

“Yes.”

“I never said that.”

“I know.”

“She lied.”

“I know.”

He stood up abruptly and began pacing.

“She lied to Daniel. She used your account. She arranged some kind of event at the cabin. She invited twelve people.”

“And a real-estate agent.”

He stopped.

“Why?”

“That is the question.”

James looked at me.

“I’ll call her.”

“No.”

“Mom—”

“Not yet.”

“Why?”

“Because if she knows what we know, she’ll start changing the story.”

He looked at me for a long moment.

“You’ve already thought this through.”

“I’ve had two days.”

“What did you do?”

I didn’t answer.

He stared at me.

“Mom.”

I folded my hands.

“I made some changes.”

“What kind of changes?”

“The kind that protect me.”

He exhaled.

“Okay.”

Then his phone rang.

Briana.

He looked at the screen.

I said nothing.

He answered.

“Hello?”

Her voice was loud enough that I could hear fragments.

James looked at me.

“With Mom.”

There was silence.

Then Briana said something that made his face harden.

“No.”

Another pause.

“I said no.”

He turned away from me.

“You should have told me.”

She continued speaking.

James closed his eyes.

Then he said:

“Did you sign a rental agreement for Mom’s cabin?”

I couldn’t hear her response.

But James could.

His expression changed.

“You what?”

He turned toward me.

“She says it was just a preliminary agreement.”

I raised an eyebrow.

“Ask her about the real-estate agent.”

He repeated the question.

The silence on the other end lasted several seconds.

Then Briana started crying.

James’s shoulders dropped.

He looked exhausted.

“Briana…”

She said something else.

His expression hardened.

“No.”

He shook his head.

“No, don’t do that.”

Then:

“You can’t blame my mother for this.”

He listened.

“Because you knew it wasn’t yours.”

His voice cracked slightly.

“And you knew she never agreed to sell it.”

I looked away.

This wasn’t a conversation I wanted to witness.

But then James said something that made me look back at him.

“You used the money?”

He went completely still.

“What money?”

His face became pale.

“Mom’s account?”

I watched him listen.

Then his voice dropped.

“How much?”

A long pause.

He sat down.

“What do you mean you thought I approved it?”

He looked at me.

I could see the disappointment in his eyes.

Not toward me.

Toward his wife.

Finally he whispered:

“Briana, I need you to come here.”

She said something.

“No. Alone.”

He hung up.

For several seconds, neither of us spoke.

Then he said:

“She says she can explain everything.”

“I imagine she can.”

“She said she was trying to help us.”

“With what?”

“Our mortgage.”

I frowned.

“What does your mortgage have to do with the cabin?”

He rubbed his face.

“Everything.”

I waited.

James looked ashamed.

“We’re behind.”

“How far?”

“Almost six months.”

My heart tightened.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because you already do too much.”

I stared at him.

“James…”

“I know what you’re going to say.”

“No. You don’t.”

“You’re going to say I should have asked.”

“Yes.”

“I was embarrassed.”

“You’re my son.”

“I know.”

“If you’re drowning, you don’t hide it because you’re embarrassed that your mother might throw you a rope.”

He looked down.

“I thought I could fix it.”

“How?”

He didn’t answer.

“James.”

He finally looked at me.

“Briana believed that if you transferred the cabin to us, we could refinance against it.”

I felt my chest tighten.

“So that was the plan.”

“I didn’t agree.”

“But you knew she wanted it.”

“I knew she hoped you’d leave it to us someday.”

“That’s different.”

“Yes.”

He looked at the papers.

“I never knew she had already contacted an agent.”

“Or arranged a rental.”

“Or used your account.”

“Exactly.”

He swallowed.

“Mom, I’m sorry.”

I nodded.

“I know.”

“No, you don’t.”

His eyes filled with tears.

“I let her believe she could do this.”

“That isn’t the same as doing it.”

“But I didn’t stop her.”

I reached across the table.

“James.”

He looked at me.

“You are responsible for your choices.”

“I know.”

“But you’re not responsible for every choice someone else makes.”

He wiped his eyes.

“Then what do we do now?”

I looked toward the window.

“Now we find out the truth.”

At 10:15, Briana arrived.

She stepped out of her car wearing sunglasses and a cream-colored coat.

She looked nothing like the woman who had been begging to get into my cabin the night before.

She looked composed.

Prepared.

When she entered the house, she didn’t apologize.

Instead, she placed her purse on the chair and said:

“I think there’s been a misunderstanding.”

I almost smiled.

“Sit down.”

She remained standing.

“I never intended to take anything from you.”

“Then why did you ask a real-estate agent how much the cabin was worth?”

Her lips parted.

Then closed.

James stared at her.

“Answer her.”

Briana looked at him.

“I was trying to find options.”

“What options?”

“For us.”

“You mean our family.”

“Yes.”

“You mean you, me, and the kids.”

“Yes.”

“Not Mom.”

She looked at me.

“I knew she would eventually want to help us.”

I said quietly:

“You decided for me.”

“I knew you loved James.”

“I do.”

“And you wouldn’t let your grandchildren lose their home.”

I felt a chill move through me.

“So that’s what you were counting on.”

She said nothing.

“You weren’t asking for help,” I continued. “You were building a situation where I would feel guilty saying no.”

Her eyes narrowed.

“You make it sound horrible.”

“It was horrible.”

“I was desperate.”

“Desperation explains behavior. It doesn’t excuse it.”

James looked at her.

“What about the account?”

Briana’s face changed.

“I was going to replace it.”

“With what?”

“I had a plan.”

“What plan?”

She didn’t answer.

James stood.

“Briana.”

She began crying.

“I was trying to save us.”

“By taking my mother’s money?”

“I borrowed it.”

“You didn’t ask.”

“I knew she’d say no.”

The room went silent.

I looked at my daughter-in-law.

There it was.

The truth.

Not an accident.

Not confusion.

A choice.

She knew I would say no.

So she decided my answer didn’t matter.

I slowly stood.

“Briana, you need to leave.”

Her eyes widened.

“Please.”

“No.”

“Where am I supposed to go?”

“Home.”

She looked at James.

“James?”

He didn’t move.

“James, you’re really going to let her throw me out?”

He closed his eyes.

Then said quietly:

“You threw yourself out when you decided Mom didn’t deserve a choice.”

Briana stared at him as if she’d never seen him before.

Then she picked up her purse.

At the door, she turned toward me.

“You think you’ve won.”

I shook my head.

“This isn’t a game.”

She gave a bitter laugh.

“You’re going to regret this.”

“Perhaps.”

She left.

The door closed.

James stood in the middle of the room.

For a while, neither of us moved.

Then he asked:

“Mom?”

“Yes?”

“Can I stay here tonight?”

I looked at my son.

“Of course.”

He nodded.

But before he could say anything else, my phone rang.

It was Carol, my attorney.

I answered.

“Sylvia, I need you to come to my office today.”

“Why?”

“There is a document you need to see.”

“What kind of document?”

She hesitated.

“One that was filed yesterday.”

My stomach tightened.

“By whom?”

“That’s the problem.”

She paused.

“It appears someone has submitted paperwork claiming that you agreed to transfer an interest in the cabin.”

I looked at James.

He was watching my face.

“Carol,” I whispered.

“Yes?”

“Whose name is on it?”

Her answer made the room feel suddenly cold.

“Briana’s.”

And then Carol added:

“Sylvia, there’s something even more concerning.”

“What?”

“The signature on the document looks remarkably similar to yours.”

For a few seconds, I couldn’t speak.

I looked at James.

He had heard enough from my expression to understand that something had happened.

“What is it?” he asked.

I held up one finger, asking him to wait.

“Carol,” I said into the phone, “are you telling me someone forged my signature?”

“I’m telling you that a document has been submitted bearing what appears to be your signature.”

“Where?”

“To the county records office.”

My stomach turned.

“What does the document say?”

“That you agreed to transfer a partial ownership interest in the cabin.”

“To Briana?”

“Yes.”

“How much?”

“Fifty percent.”

I closed my eyes.

The cabin.

Robert’s cabin.

The place where we had spent twenty years building memories.

Someone had tried to make half of it theirs with a signature that wasn’t mine.

“When was it filed?”

“Yesterday afternoon.”

The same day James and Briana had driven to the cabin.

The same day Briana expected the property to be waiting for her.

The same day she had arrived with her parents and luggage.

This wasn’t a vacation.

It had never been a vacation.

It had been a move.

“Carol,” I said, “what happens now?”

“Nothing happens until we challenge it. But I need you here today.”

“I’ll be there.”

I ended the call.

James was standing completely still.

“What did she say?”

I told him.

His face went white.

“She forged your signature?”

“It appears that way.”

“Mom…”

“I know.”

“No. You don’t understand.”

“What?”

He sat down.

“There was a folder in our house.”

“What folder?”

“I thought it was about the mortgage.”

“What was in it?”

“I don’t know. Briana told me not to touch it.”

I stared at him.

“Where is it?”

“At home.”

“Then we’re going there.”

He stood.

“I’ll get it.”

“No.”

He looked at me.

“We’ll get it together.”

Briana wasn’t at the house when we arrived.

Her car was gone.

James unlocked the door.

The house felt strangely unfamiliar.

Maybe because I had never before entered it knowing that my son had been keeping secrets from me.

James went directly upstairs.

I followed.

He stopped outside their bedroom.

“Mom?”

“Yes?”

“I don’t want you to think I knew.”

“I don’t.”

“You really don’t?”

“No.”

He opened the closet.

There was a black filing box behind several winter coats.

He pulled it out.

The box was heavier than I expected.

Inside were mortgage statements, tax records, bank documents, and several envelopes.

James began sorting through them.

Then he stopped.

“Here.”

He handed me a folder.

My name was written across the front.

I opened it.

The first page was a photocopy of the cabin deed.

The second was a property valuation.

The third was a letter from a real-estate attorney.

Then I saw the number.

$1.48 million.

I stared at it.

James whispered:

“I didn’t know it was worth that much.”

Neither did I.

Robert and I had bought the land decades earlier.

We built the cabin slowly.

Over the years, the surrounding area had changed.

Tourism had exploded.

Property values had risen.

The little mountain cabin we had once thought of as our escape was now worth nearly one and a half million dollars.

I turned the page.

There was a handwritten note.

Possible equity solution: transfer 50% interest to daughter-in-law / refinance / sell if necessary.

My hands began shaking.

Then I saw another note.

Owner unlikely to cooperate voluntarily.

I looked at James.

He was staring at the page.

“Mom…”

I turned another page.

CONTINUE FOR NEXT PART…