PART 5
Evan looked down.
“She said we’d refinance after our first year.”
Martin asked, “Did she ever show you the purchase agreement?”
“No.”
“Closing documents?”
“No.”
“Loan application?”
“No.”
“Anything from the bank?”
Evan shook his head.
“I trusted her.”
Martin looked at me.
I could see the same thought in his eyes.
This wasn’t simply a bad financial decision.
Someone had deliberately kept Evan outside the paperwork.
Then Evan suddenly said,
“There’s something else.”
I turned.
“What?”
“Two months ago, Brooke asked me for my driver’s license.”
“Why?”
“She said she needed it for the insurance.”
“Did you give it to her?”
“Yes.”
Martin and I exchanged a glance.
“Did she ever ask for your Social Security number?”
“Yes.”
“When?”
“Same time.”
I closed my eyes.
Martin immediately wrote something down.
“Anything else?”
Evan thought.
“She asked for my last two pay stubs.”
“Why?”
“She said the lender needed them.”
I looked at Martin.
He didn’t say anything.
He didn’t have to.
We all understood.
Someone had been building a financial file on my son.
And he had willingly handed over every piece because he believed he was helping his future wife.
At 10:26, Martin’s phone rang.
He listened.
Then his expression changed.
“What?”
He stood.
“Are you sure?”
A pause.
“Send it.”
He hung up.
I waited.
“What happened?”
“The lender found another application.”
Evan stood.
“Another application for what?”
Martin looked at him.
“A second mortgage.”
My stomach dropped.
“On the Fairground property?”
“No.”
He looked directly at Evan.
“On a property in your name.”
The room went completely silent.
Evan whispered,
“What property?”
Martin pushed a document across the table.
Evan read the address.
Then he looked at me.
“Mom.”
“What?”
“That address is our house.”
I froze.
“No.”
“Yes.”
He pointed to the document.
“The house we’re renting.”
I looked closer.
The application listed Evan as borrower.
Brooke as co-borrower.
And the loan amount was $186,000.
But the house wasn’t owned by them.
It belonged to a retired couple in another county.
Someone had apparently attempted to use Evan’s identity to secure a loan against a property he didn’t own.
Martin immediately picked up the phone.
“We’re contacting the lender.”
Evan looked sick.
“How many applications are there?”
“We don’t know yet.”
“How many?”
Martin didn’t answer.
Evan turned to me.
“I need Brooke.”
“No.”
He looked at me.
“Mom—”
“You don’t confront her alone.”
“Why?”
“Because we don’t know what she knows.”
He sat back down.
For the first time, I saw anger replace confusion.
Not rage.
Something colder.
Determination.
“Then we’ll find out.”
Brooke didn’t answer my calls.
She didn’t answer Evan either.
Neither did Glenn.
But at 1:15 that afternoon, Sheila called me.
Her voice was barely recognizable.
“Stacey.”
“What?”
“Can I see you?”
“Where?”
“Not at my house.”
We met at a small diner outside town.
She was already there when I arrived.
She looked like she hadn’t slept.
I sat across from her.
“What happened?”
She started crying.
“I didn’t know.”
I didn’t say anything.
“I swear I didn’t know.”
“Didn’t know what?”
She looked around the restaurant.
Then leaned forward.
“Glenn borrowed money.”
“I know.”
“He said it was temporary.”
“How much?”
She shook her head.
“I don’t know.”
“Where did it go?”
“I don’t know.”
“Then why are you calling me?”
She pulled a small envelope from her purse.
“I found this.”
She pushed it toward me.
Inside was a USB drive.
I looked at her.
“What is this?”
“Glenn’s.”
“What does it contain?”
“I don’t know.”
“Then why give it to me?”
She whispered,
“Because I heard him talking to Brooke.”
“When?”
“Friday night.”
My heart tightened.
“What did they say?”
“They were arguing.”
“About what?”
“The wedding.”
“What about it?”
She wiped her eyes.
“Glenn told her she needed to make sure you gave the money before Monday.”
I stared at her.
“Why Monday?”
“Because the lender was going to start foreclosure proceedings.”
“On the Fairground property?”
She nodded.
“And Brooke said she couldn’t get Evan to sign.”
My fingers went cold.
“What did Glenn say?”
She looked at me.
“He said…”
She hesitated.
“Tell me.”
“He said, ‘Then use his information. We’ve already got everything we need.’”
The diner suddenly seemed too small.
I looked down at the USB.
“Why didn’t you stop them?”
She began crying.
“Because I was scared.”
“Of Glenn?”
She nodded.
“I’m not proud of it.”
I believed her.
But I didn’t forgive her.
Not yet.
“What else?”
She swallowed.
“Brooke said you would give the money because you loved Evan.”
I closed my eyes.
That sentence hurt more than anything else.
Not because it was untrue.
Because it was true.
I did love Evan.
And they had counted on it.
Sheila continued.
“She said if you refused, she’d keep Lainey away from you.”
My eyes opened.
“That was her plan?”
She nodded.
“I heard her say it.”
I sat back.
Suddenly the birthday incident made sense.
The month without Lainey.
The threats.
The guilt.
The wedding joke.
It hadn’t been random cruelty.
It had been pressure.
A strategy.
They knew exactly which buttons to push.
I stood.
“I need to go.”
Sheila grabbed my wrist.
“Stacey.”
I stopped.
“Please.”
“What?”
“Don’t let Glenn destroy Evan.”
I looked at her.
“He already tried.”
That evening, Martin opened the USB.
There were emails.
Dozens.
Bank statements.
Property documents.
Text message screenshots.
And one folder labeled:
“Evan.”
I felt sick.
Martin opened it.
Inside were copies of Evan’s driver’s license, Social Security card, pay stubs, employment information, tax records, and insurance documents.
Someone had collected everything.
Not for a mortgage.
For multiple financial applications.
There were seven.
Seven.
Evan sat completely still.
Martin opened the first.
Rejected.
Second.
Rejected.
Third.
Pending.
Fourth.
Approved.
Evan’s face went white.
“How much?”
Martin read it.
“Seventy-two thousand.”
“For what?”
“Personal loan.”
Evan shook his head.
“I never took that.”
Martin opened another.
“Credit line. Thirty-five thousand.”
Another.
“Business credit card. Twenty thousand.”
Another.
“Vehicle financing.”
Evan stood.
“That’s enough.”
I reached for him.
He walked to the window.
His shoulders were shaking.
“I worked every day.”
“I know.”
“I paid every bill.”
“I know.”
“I thought I was building a family.”
His voice broke.
“I was building a trap.”
I stood beside him.
“No.”
He looked at me.
“You didn’t build this.”
“But I helped.”
“How?”
“I trusted the wrong people.”
He shook his head.
“You trusted me.”
I smiled sadly.
“And I’ll keep trusting you.”
He looked at me.
“Even now?”
“Especially now.”
He hugged me.
For the first time since Gene died, I felt my son’s arms around me like he was a little boy again.
Then Martin quietly said,
“There’s one more thing.”
We turned.
He had opened the final document.
A property transfer.
The Fairground property.
But this one was different.
It showed that Brooke had recently attempted to transfer ownership from the LLC to herself.
And underneath it was a handwritten note.
Martin read it aloud.
“Once Stacey’s money clears, pay off the foreclosure and move the remaining funds to the Florida account.”
Evan stared.
“Florida?”
Martin opened the attachment.
There was an account number.
A name.
Brooke Ashby.
Then another name.
Not Glenn.
Not Sheila.
A man we’d never heard of.
“Who is Daniel Mercer?” I asked.
Nobody knew.
Then Evan whispered,
“I do.”
We both looked at him.
“He’s Brooke’s old boyfriend.”
My stomach dropped.
“You’re sure?”
“Yes.”
“How do you know?”
“She told me they hadn’t spoken in years.”
Martin looked at the documents.
“Apparently they have.”
