Chapter 7: Everything They Took Before
I couldn’t remember driving to Miranda’s office.
I only remembered sitting across from her desk, placing the photograph down, and saying:
“They sold my apartment.””
Miranda studied the picture.
“Your first property?””
I nodded.
“I bought it when I was twenty-two.””
“Was your name on the title?””
“Yes.””
“Did you authorize a sale?””
“No.””
Her expression became serious.
“Then we need records.””
I laughed softly.
“Of course we do.””
“What?””
“My whole life has become paperwork.””
Miranda looked at me carefully.
“Jenna.””
I looked down.
“I trusted them.””
She didn’t interrupt.
“I thought they were helping me.””
That was the worst part.
Because they had never acted like villains.
They acted like family.
They hugged me.
They cooked dinner.
They told me they were proud.
Then they quietly took pieces of my life.
The apartment had been the first.
The house was just the first time they got caught.
Two days later, Miranda found the records.
And the truth was worse than I imagined.
The apartment had been sold eight years earlier.
The buyer was a company.
A company owned by someone familiar.
My father.
I stared at the document.
“He bought it?””
Miranda nodded.
“Technically, yes.””
“Why?””
“That’s what we need to determine.””
I knew why.
I didn’t need more proof.
But I needed to understand how far it went.
That evening, I asked my mother to meet me.
She arrived at the house alone.
For once, she looked small.
Not innocent.
Just small.
“Jenna.””
I didn’t offer her coffee.
I didn’t offer her a seat.
“Did you know about the apartment?””
Her face changed.
That was enough.
“You knew.””
She sat down.
“Your father handled it.””
I stared.
“Mom.””
She looked away.
“He said Ryan was in trouble.””
“Ryan was always in trouble.””
She flinched.
I continued.
“You sold my apartment.””
“We didn’t sell it.””
“You let him.””
Tears filled her eyes.
“He promised he would pay you back.””
“When?””
She didn’t answer.
“When?””
Her silence was the answer.
I laughed.
A painful, empty sound.
“He never planned to.””
“No.””
She whispered.
“No, he didn’t.””
I looked at her.
“You all knew.””
My mother covered her face.
“I was afraid.””
“Of what?””
“That Ryan would fail.””
I nodded slowly.
“And what about me?””
She looked up.
“What?””
“What were you afraid would happen to me?””
She had no answer.
Because nobody had ever been afraid of me failing.
They only feared Ryan failing.
That was the difference.
A week later, Ryan came to my house again.
This time, he wasn’t asking for anything.
He was carrying boxes.
His boxes.
“I moved out of Kelsey’s parents’ house.””
I looked at him.
“Where are you staying?””
“A hotel.””
I nodded.
He looked around.
“I never realized.””
“What?””
“How much everyone depended on you.””
I leaned against the counter.
“You mean used me.””
He swallowed.
“Yes.””
That honesty surprised me.
“I’m not asking you to forgive me.””
“Good.””
“I don’t deserve it.””
I studied him.
For years, I wanted him to admit this.
I wanted him to see me.
Now that he did, I didn’t know what to do with it.
“Why are you here?””
He handed me a folder.
“Because I found something else.””
Inside was a copy of a financial statement.
My father’s company account.
There was a payment.
A large payment.
Sent three months before my house purchase.
The recipient name made me freeze.
*Kelsey Whitaker.*
I looked at Ryan.
“What is this?””
His face was pale.
“I don’t know.””
“Ryan.””
“I swear.””
I believed him.
Because he looked terrified.
Then my phone rang.
Miranda.
I answered.
“Jenna, we need to talk.””
“What happened?””
“I found another person involved.””
“Who?””
Her voice lowered.
“Someone you trusted.””
My grip tightened.
“Who?””
A pause.
Then:
“Your mother wasn’t the only one helping your father.””
I looked at Ryan.
At the document.
At the payment.
May you like
And Miranda said:
“The person who helped create the fake deed was someone much closer to you than you think.””
