Chapter 2 - The Secret My Mother Tried to Bury“Who sent you that message?” my mother asked.
I hadn't realized I had spoken aloud until I saw her face.
“Someone who apparently knows more about this house than I do.”
Olivia moved toward me. “Let me see your phone.”
I slipped it into my coat pocket.
“No.”
“Rebecca, don't be childish.”
“Then stop acting as though my home is a board game you can move pieces around on.”
A few guests began collecting their coats. Aunt Carol whispered something to Michael, who shook his head and followed her toward the door. The party was unraveling, but Olivia seemed less concerned about the departing guests than about the message on my phone.
Jason stood beside the fireplace, his jaw clenched.
“Maybe we should all sit down,” he suggested. “There are some misunderstandings here.”
“Wonderful,” I said. “Let's begin with the misunderstanding that made my sister believe she owns a property I bought with my own money.”
Olivia's eyes flashed.
“You think money makes you better than everyone else.”
“No. But paying a mortgage generally gives a person a reasonable expectation of ownership.”
“You've always held that over us!”
I stared at her. “Held what over you?”
“That you have a career. That you bought a house. That you never needed anyone.”
For a moment, I almost laughed. Olivia had never needed anyone because someone was always waiting to catch her when she fell. When she dropped out of college, Mom called it a brave decision. When her boutique closed after eleven months, Dad quietly paid off the outstanding bills. When she married Jason, my parents helped them with their down payment.
I had never resented those things. Not until they started treating my sacrifices as proof that I could afford to make more.
“I worked for this house,” I said. “Nobody handed it to me.”
“You don't know what Mom and I have been dealing with.”
“Then explain it.”
My mother sank into one of the kitchen chairs. She looked suddenly older than sixty-two, her hands trembling around the stem of her wineglass.
“Three weeks ago,” she began, “Olivia came to me with a problem.”
Olivia crossed her arms. “You don't have to tell her everything.”
“Yes, I do.”
Mom looked at me.
“Jason's business has been struggling. They fell behind on several payments, and Olivia was afraid they would lose their house. She asked whether I could help.”
I glanced at Jason. He stared into the fire.
“Mom, you're retired. How could you help them?”
“I couldn't give them money. But I remembered the power of attorney you gave me when you were recovering from your surgery last year.”
My blood went cold.
That document had been limited. I had signed paperwork allowing my mother to handle certain property-related matters if I became temporarily unable to manage them. I remembered asking the attorney to make the authority narrow and specific.
“What does my power of attorney have to do with Olivia's party?”
Mom swallowed.
“Olivia said you had talked about letting her use the lodge. She said you were planning to make it a family Christmas property, and that you had asked me to help arrange the paperwork.”
“I never said that.”
“I know that now.”
“When did you find out?”
She looked down.
“Tonight.”
The answer hurt more than it should have.
“You watched her tell everyone she bought my house,” I said. “You knew it wasn't true, and you waited until I confronted her.”
“I was afraid.”
“Of Olivia?”
Mom didn't answer.
Olivia suddenly snatched up her champagne glass.
“This is ridiculous. Mom was helping me explore an option. Nothing was finalized.”
“Then why did you tell everyone you bought it?”
“Because I thought it would be finalized!”
“With whose permission?”
She opened her mouth, then closed it.
My phone vibrated again. This time the message contained a photograph of a document.
I enlarged the image.
It was a legal form bearing my name, my property address, and a signature that looked almost exactly like mine.
At the bottom was the date: three weeks earlier.
I had been in Denver that day, working in the office until after six.
The signature was mine in shape, but the final stroke was wrong. I always curved the last letter upward. This one slanted sharply down.
Someone had copied my name.
“Mom,” I said, holding out the screen. “Have you seen this?”
Her face drained of color.
Olivia lunged for the phone.
I stepped away.
“Don't,” I warned.
She stopped, breathing hard.
The document was titled Authorization for Property Transfer and Use.
It wasn't a deed. It wasn't proof that Olivia owned my lodge.
But it was enough to make me wonder what else someone had tried to do with my identity.
I looked at my sister.
“Who forged my signature?”
“No one forged anything,” she snapped.
“Then you won't mind if I have a lawyer examine it.”
Jason finally spoke.
“Rebecca, please. If you involve lawyers, this could become much worse than it needs to be.”
I turned toward him.
“Worse for whom?”
He had no answer.
I looked around the room at the abandoned glasses, the half-eaten appetizers, the Christmas wreath I had hung myself that morning. Everything familiar suddenly felt contaminated.
“Everybody needs to leave,” I said.
Olivia's face twisted.
“You can't kick us out. It's Christmas!”
“It's my house.”
“You're unbelievable.”
“No,” I said, opening the front door. “I'm the owner. There's a difference.”
Cold air swept through the room.
The guests filed outside without another word. Jason followed them, but Olivia remained by the fireplace, staring at me as though she were memorizing the face of an enemy.
When the last guest had gone, she picked up her purse.
“You're going to regret humiliating me.”
I watched her walk into the snow.
Then I locked the door, turned off the Christmas music, and called the attorney who had handled my purchase.
He answered on the fourth ring.
“Rebecca,” he said, sounding surprised. “Is everything all right?”
“No,” I replied. “Someone may be trying to transfer my property without my permission.”
The silence on the other end lasted just long enough to frighten me.
“Don't sign anything,” he said. “And don't let anyone remove documents from the house.”
“Why?”
“Because if the paperwork I received this afternoon is the same paperwork you're describing, we may have a serious problem.”
I gripped the phone.
“What paperwork?”
He exhaled.
“Your mother called my office. She wanted to know whether your lodge could be transferred to your sister as a Christmas gift.”
I closed my eyes.
May you like
The lie hadn't started tonight.
Tonight was simply the first time Olivia had been caught telling it.
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