We left Tessa's house just after one.
Robert drove.
Tessa sat beside me in the back seat, while Melissa followed behind in her own car.
Nobody talked much.
The documents rested inside a sealed folder on my lap.
I kept thinking about the anonymous message.
STOP LOOKING AT GRANT. LOOK AT EVAN.
It wasn't an accusation.
It was a direction.
And that frightened me more.
At the attorney's office, we spent nearly two hours reviewing the property records.
The attorney, Elaine Porter, was direct and careful.
She explained that the exact legal effect of the lien depended on the property's title, the documents filed, and the circumstances surrounding the transaction.
She did not promise that everything would disappear.
She did promise to examine every document before we made any decision.
That was exactly what I needed.
Elaine studied the lien.
“This appears connected to a financing agreement.”
“I never signed one.”
“That matters.”
“Can Grant pledge the property without me?”
“Possibly in some circumstances, depending on how title is held and what interest he pledged. But I don't want to guess. I'll verify the title and filing history.”
She turned toward Robert.
“And you said your son told you he planned to refinance?”
“Yes.”
“Did he give you documents?”
Robert handed her the power-of-attorney form.
Elaine read it carefully.
“This is broader than a routine mortgage authorization.”
“That’s what I thought.”
She looked at me.
“Did you ever sign this?”
“No.”
“Good. Don't sign anything Grant sends you until I review it.”
I nodded.
Then I gave her the transaction records.
She sorted through them.
When she reached the Harlan Family Trust transfer, her expression changed slightly.
“What is this?”
“Eighteen thousand dollars.”
“To this trust?”
“Yes.”
“Do you know why?”
“No.”
She looked at Robert.
“Do you know the Harlan family?”
“No.”
“Then we need to trace this.”
I told her about David.
She wrote his name down.
“Send me everything he gave you.”
I did.
She looked at the clock.
“I'll start with the title and lien. You should also get complete statements from every account you and Grant share.”
“I've already started.”
“Good.”
I hesitated.
“Could Grant have opened a company using my information?”
“Not without more information. But if your name appears on any filing, we should investigate.”
I showed her Mercer Consulting.
She read it.
Then looked at Melissa's name.
“Does this woman know she was listed?”
“She didn't.”
Elaine's expression became serious.
“Then she needs independent legal advice too.”
Melissa nodded.
“I understand.”
When we left, the sun was already low.
Robert drove us back toward Tessa's house.
Halfway there, Melissa called.
“Evan isn't answering.”
“Did you tell him what happened?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“I wanted to speak to him first.”
Tessa looked at me.
“About what?”
Melissa gripped the steering wheel.
“There was something I remembered.”
She pulled into a parking lot.
We stopped behind her.
Melissa got out and came to our car.
“When Grant first approached Evan,” she said, “he wasn't asking to invest.”
“What was he asking?”
“To borrow money.”
I frowned.
“From Evan?”
“Yes.”
“How much?”
“Twenty thousand.”
“When?”
“About nine months ago.”
“That was before the fifteen-thousand-dollar investment.”
“Yes.”
“What did he need it for?”
Melissa looked at me.
“He said he was helping a family member.”
“Which family member?”
“He wouldn't say.”
Tessa frowned.
“Could it have been another debt?”
“Maybe.”
I asked, “Did Evan give him the money?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Evan said Grant couldn't explain where it would go.”
I stared at her.
“So Grant went looking for money elsewhere.”
“Yes.”
“Then why did Evan eventually accept his investment?”
“Because the investment was different.”
“Different how?”
“Grant offered collateral.”
“What collateral?”
Melissa hesitated.
“The house.”
My stomach dropped.
“But the lien was filed six weeks ago.”
“The first agreement was earlier.”
“How much collateral?”
“Twenty-five thousand.”
I looked at Tessa.
“So the lien wasn't a surprise.”
“No.”
“It was part of the original deal.”
Melissa nodded.
“But Evan told Grant the lien would be temporary.”
“Until what?”
“Until Grant paid the investment back.”
I felt a strange sense of anger.
“Then why did the lender have the lien?”
“Because Evan wasn't the lender.”
“Who was?”
“Northstar.”
I understood.
Evan had arranged the financing.
Grant had pledged the house.
Northstar had secured the loan.
But the real beneficiary might have been someone else.
I asked, “Who controlled Northstar?”
Melissa looked away.
“I don't know.”
“Ask Evan.”
“He won't answer.”
“Then we're going to his office.”
Tessa frowned.
“Today?”
“Yes.”
We followed Melissa across town.
Evan's office occupied a small brick building near a row of warehouses.
The front door was locked.
Melissa tried the handle.
“Evan?”
No answer.
She called.
Straight to voicemail.
Robert walked around the side.
There was another entrance.
Locked.
Then Tessa noticed a piece of paper beneath the door.
She pulled it free.
It was a handwritten note.
CALL ME.
A number was written underneath.
Not Evan's.
I recognized the last four digits.
They matched the anonymous number that had texted me.
I stared at it.
“Someone wants us here.”
Robert looked around the parking lot.
“Maybe we shouldn't stay.”
I agreed.
We returned to the cars.
My phone rang.
The unknown number.
I answered.
“Hello?”
A man's voice spoke.
“You shouldn't be asking questions at Evan's office.”
“Who are you?”
“Someone who knows what Grant did.”
“What did he do?”
“He wasn't supposed to invest.”
“Then what was he supposed to do?”
The man went silent.
“Answer me.”
“You're looking in the wrong place.”
“Then tell me the right one.”
“Find the first transfer.”
“What first transfer?”
“The first eighteen thousand.”
My heart stopped.
“You know about it?”
“Yes.”
“Where did it come from?”
The line went dead.
I immediately checked the transaction records.
The eighteen thousand had entered our savings account three days before it was sent to the Harlan Family Trust.
I had assumed it was part of our existing savings.
It wasn't.
The sender was unfamiliar.
A company called Prescott Family Holdings.
I stared at the name.
Robert saw it.
“That isn't mine.”
Tessa looked confused.
“Prescott is your father's name.”
“Yes.”
“But Dad doesn't have a company.”
Robert shook his head.
“Not one I know of.”
I looked at him.
“Could someone have created it?”
He took the phone.
“I'll check.”
He searched his email.
Nothing.
Then he opened an old tax folder on his phone.
His face changed.
“I remember this.”
“What?”
“Years ago, my father created a holding company.”
“Your father?”
“Yes.”
“What was it called?”
“Prescott Family Holdings.”
Nobody spoke.
Robert sat down.
“When my father died, I thought it had been dissolved.”
“Was it?”
“I don't know.”
“Could it still exist?”
“Possibly.”
I stared at the transfer.
“Then where did the eighteen thousand come from?”
Robert shook his head.
“I don't know.”
“Could your father have left money in it?”
“He might have.”
Tessa looked at him.
“Dad, how much?”
“I don't know.”
I looked at the date.
Six months ago.
The same week Grant began discussing the sports bar seriously.
The same period when he opened Mercer Consulting.
The same period when the hidden transfers began.
The money might not have come from Grant.
It might have come from an old family account.
And if that was true, there was another question.
Why had Grant been able to access it?
We returned to Tessa's house.
Robert called an accountant who had handled some of his father's records.
The accountant searched the old files.
After twenty minutes, he called back.
“Yes,” Robert said.
Then his expression changed.
“What?”
He listened.
“Are you sure?”
Another pause.
“Who was authorized?”
The answer came.
Robert slowly sat down.
“Grant.”
I stared at him.
“What?”
Robert covered the phone.
“Grant was listed as an authorized representative.”
My heart sank.
“Since when?”
“Six months ago.”
I looked at the date.
The same month as the eighteen-thousand-dollar transfer.
“How?”
Robert returned to the call.
“Who added him?”
He listened.
Then looked at me.
“My father's attorney.”
The Harlan name appeared again.
But this time, there was no connection to David's office.
There was another lawyer.
Richard Harlan.
David's dead father.
I felt cold.
“Robert,” I said quietly.
“Why would your father's attorney authorize Grant?”
“I don't know.”
Tessa stared at me.
“Maybe he didn't.”
The room went silent.
I understood what she meant.
Someone could have used a dead man's name before.
Someone could have used Melissa's identity.
Someone could have created Mercer Consulting.
And someone could have placed Grant's name onto an old family account.
The pattern was becoming impossible to ignore.
Grant was guilty of hiding debts.
But perhaps he hadn't created every piece of the scheme himself.
My phone buzzed.
A new message from the anonymous number.
YOU'RE FINALLY LOOKING IN THE RIGHT PLACE.
Then another.
ASK ROBERT WHAT HIS FATHER LEFT BEHIND.
I turned toward Robert.
He looked frightened.
“What?”
I showed him.
He stared at the screen.
Then whispered:
“My father had one property nobody in the family knew about.”
Click here to continue reading: PART 11: Robert Finally Revealed the Property His Father Had Hidden, and Its Connection to Grant Explained Why Someone Needed the House Sold
Three Weeks After One Cruel Sentence, My Husband Invited His Entire Family to Dinner and Assumed I Would Quietly Save His Birthday Again
Part 10 of 20
