My father's house had security cameras on every entrance.
I had never paid much attention to them.
That changed immediately.
We arrived just before midnight.
A security employee met us at the gate and walked my father through the system.
Julia stayed with me in the living room.
I sat beneath a blanket I didn't need.
My hands were still cold.
“Do you think they were looking for the trust papers?” I asked.
“Possibly.”
“Then why take my grandmother's photograph?”
“Maybe they didn't know what they were taking.”
“But it was in the same drawer.”
Julia considered that.
“Then we need to assume they were searching quickly.”
My father entered the room.
“We have footage.”
I stood.
“Who was it?”
He shook his head.
“We're still reviewing.”
We watched the recordings.
The person appeared at 10:43 p.m.
Dark clothing.
Cap.
Face mostly obscured.
They approached the window from the side garden.
The camera caught them for only a few seconds.
Then they disappeared inside.
At 11:06, they left.
No vehicle was visible.
I stared at the screen.
“Can you enlarge the image?”
The security employee did.
The figure turned slightly.
A wristwatch caught the light.
I recognized it.
Owen had one exactly like it.
But I stopped myself.
“That's not enough.”
Julia nodded.
“Correct.”
I did not want another assumption.
We needed facts.
The next morning, we learned that Owen had not returned to his apartment.
His phone was off.
His car had been left at the airport.
That worried me.
Not because I wanted him safe.
Because disappearing made it harder to know what he was doing.
Then Nathan called.
“I found something else.”
I answered immediately.
“What?”
“The storage unit.”
“Did you go there?”
“Yes.”
My heart jumped.
“Nathan, why?”
“Because I needed to know.”
“Are you inside?”
“Yes.”
“Leave.”
“I can't.”
“What do you mean?”
“The door is open.”
I looked at Julia.
“What do you see?”
“Boxes.”
“Anything with your name?”
“No.”
“Your brother's?”
“Yes.”
“Then leave.”
Nathan's breathing changed.
“Mara.”
“What?”
“There are passports.”
I froze.
“How many?”
“Four.”
“Whose?”
“Yours.”
My stomach dropped.
“What?”
“There are copies of your passport. Your driver's license. Your grandmother's trust documents.”
I gripped the phone.
“Anything else?”
“Your father's company records.”
Julia leaned closer.
“Tell him to photograph everything.”
I did.
Nathan moved through the unit.
Then he said, “There's a laptop.”
“Don't touch it.”
“I already did.”
“Don't open anything else.”
He hesitated.
Then he whispered, “There's a folder with the word Paris.”
I closed my eyes.
The honeymoon.
Everything led back to it.
“Take a photograph of the folder.”
He did.
Then he said something that made my blood run cold.
“Mara, there are hotel records.”
“What hotel records?”
“Your honeymoon.”
I looked at Julia.
She motioned for me to continue.
“What about them?”
“There are two reservations.”
“Two?”
“One for you and Owen.”
“And the other?”
Nathan went silent.
“Nathan?”
“The second reservation is under Lorraine's name.”
My stomach turned.
“Same hotel?”
“Yes.”
“Same dates?”
“Yes.”
Julia's face changed.
That explained why Lorraine had been so involved.
But it raised another question.
Why would she need to be in Paris?
Nathan continued.
“There's another document.”
“What?”
“It has a name on it.”
“Whose?”
He read it.
I didn't recognize the name.
Julia did.
She looked at my father.
“Who is that?”
My father shook his head.
“I don't know.”
Nathan said, “There's a note beside it.”
“What does it say?”
He read slowly.
“Transfer authority.”
I felt the room go quiet.
“What does that mean?”
Julia answered carefully.
“We don't know yet.”
Nathan suddenly said, “Someone's outside.”
My heart stopped.
“Leave the unit.”
“I can't.”
“Why?”
“The door won't open.”
My father immediately contacted security.
Julia took the phone.
“Nathan, listen to me. Don't confront anyone. Move away from the entrance.”
I heard a metallic sound through the phone.
Then Nathan whispered.
“The lock just opened.”
A loud crash followed.
The call went dead.
I stood.
“We have to find him.”
My father stopped me.
“No.”
“He's alone.”
“And whoever is there may be waiting for you.”
The security employee was already making calls.
Minutes passed.
Then the phone rang.
Nathan.
I answered.
“Mara?”
His voice was shaking.
“I'm out.”
I nearly collapsed with relief.
“What happened?”
“Someone came into the unit.”
“Did you see them?”
“No.”
“Where are you?”
“Outside.”
“Are you hurt?”
“No.”
He breathed heavily.
“I took the folder.”
“What folder?”
“The Paris one.”
“Where is it?”
“With me.”
“Don't open it.”
“I already did.”
My heart sank.
“What did you see?”
He was silent.
Then he said, “Owen planned to transfer your trust.”
“To whom?”
Nathan hesitated.
“Not to himself.”
I looked at Julia.
“To whom?”
Nathan gave the name.
It was the same name from the handwritten note.
The person whose credentials had been used to access my father's company documents.
Julia stood.
“That connects the financial employee to the storage unit.”
My father frowned.
“And to Owen.”
I looked at the photograph Nathan had sent.
There was one more line beneath the transfer instructions.
If she refuses the first route, proceed through the marriage agreement.
I stared at it.
“What marriage agreement?”
Julia took the phone from my hand.
She zoomed in.
Then she looked at me.
“Mara, did you sign a prenuptial agreement?”
“No.”
“Are you certain?”
“I never signed one.”
She read the document again.
“Then this is a problem.”
“What?”
“This says you did.”
My mouth went dry.
“That isn't possible.”
She looked at the date.
The document had been prepared before the wedding.
And beneath the signature line was a scanned version of my name.
I stared at it.
It looked like my signature.
But I had never written it.
My father stepped closer.
“Forgery?”
“Almost certainly,” Julia said.
I looked at the page.
The marriage agreement was not simply about the condo.
It contained clauses concerning my trust, future inheritance, and the company interest my father had transferred.
Someone had planned to use the marriage itself as a mechanism for controlling my assets.
The honeymoon appointment suddenly made sense.
Paris had not been about romance.
It had been about getting me to sign documents under circumstances I had not understood.
I sat down slowly.
All the pieces had finally touched.
The condo.
The loan applications.
The trust records.
The company information.
The storage unit.
The second honeymoon reservation.
The forged agreement.
And the person whose name kept appearing beside all of them.
Owen had not designed the entire scheme alone.
But there was one question left.
If he had been following someone else's plan, who had actually been giving the orders?
My phone vibrated.
A new message appeared from the unknown number.
You finally found the agreement.
Then another arrived.
Now ask Owen who wrote it.
Click here to continue reading: PART 9: The Forged Agreement Had My Name on It, but the Final Page Revealed Who Had Been Guiding Owen From the Beginning
I Thought Hiding Beneath Our Wedding Bed Would Give Me a Laugh, Until My Husband’s Mother Walked In
Part 8 of 12
