Chapter 21 - The Envelope in the Suitcase
The kitchen door clicked shut behind the children.
Caleb sat down at the table, leaning in close to his phone camera. The overhead kitchen light illuminated the stark terror in his eyes.
"Mom," Caleb whispered, his voice trembling so violently he could barely form words. "Are you alone?"
Linda leaned into the camera frame beside me. "I'm right here, Caleb. What is it?"
"I don't even know how to say this," Caleb stammered, pulling a stack of legal documents out of the manila folder. "Tori didn't just spend our savings. She... she did something unthinkable."
"What did she do, Caleb?" I demanded, my pulse hammering against my temples like a war drum.
"Four months ago," Caleb choked out, tears welling in his eyes. "She applied for an equity line of credit. A private bridge loan."
"On what?" I asked, though my stomach was already violently plummeting.
"On your house, Mom," Caleb said, holding up a certified deed transfer document. "She forged your signature on a power of attorney document back in November. She used your social security number, an old tax return she stole from your filing cabinet during Thanksgiving, and a notary stamp from her friend at the real estate office."
The world seemed to spin around me. The lights of Lisbon blurred into streaks of chaotic color.
"How much, Caleb?" Linda barked, her voice booming over the speaker. "How much did she take against Myrna's home?!"
Caleb flipped to the final page, his jaw trembling as he read the figure.
"Three hundred and eighty thousand dollars," Caleb wept, burying his face in his hands. "She took three hundred and eighty thousand dollars against your property to finance her boutique business debts and pay off high-interest personal loans. And Mom... the bridge loan defaulted two weeks ago. The foreclosure notice arrived in today's certified mail."
I stared at the screen, my breath trapped in my throat, paralyzed.
Before I could speak, my phone buzzed with an incoming text notification at the top of the screen.
It was an unknown number from an Illinois area code.
May you like
I pulled down the notification banner.
*“You should have helped me in Lisbon, Myrna,”* the text read. *“The sheriff serves the eviction notice on your front door on Monday morning. Have fun on your flight home.”*
