Chapter 2 - The Unwanted Guest
My heart slammed against my ribs as I stared at the terrifying silhouette in my bedroom window.
Nora followed my terrified gaze and immediately locked all the car doors.
“Who is in your house, Lena?” she demanded, reaching for her cell phone to call the police.
Before I could even answer, my phone buzzed with an incoming call from a local number.
I answered on speakerphone, my hands shaking violently as I held the device.
“Did you really think you could just crawl back here and ruin our celebration?” a vicious voice sneered through the speaker.
It was Brooke, Grant’s horribly entitled and permanently bitter older sister.
She had always hated my success, my wealth, and the fact that her brother relied entirely on my bank accounts.
“Get out of my house right now, Brooke, or I will have you arrested for trespassing,” I warned her with a steady voice.
Brooke laughed loudly, the cruel sound echoing chillingly over the car’s audio system.
“You cannot arrest me for staying in a house that my brother legally owns,” she mocked confidently.
I closed my eyes in frustration, knowing Grant had never been added to the official property deed.
“Grant does not own a single brick of that estate,” I reminded her sharply.
“That is absolutely hilarious, Lena, considering I am currently looking at the newly recorded deed in his office,” Brooke replied.
A wave of pure, unadulterated panic washed over my exhausted body.
“What are you talking about?” Nora yelled aggressively toward the phone.
“Grant filed a transfer of ownership document with the county clerk yesterday morning,” Brooke explained with wicked delight.
She claimed that I had signed the estate entirely over to him just hours before I went into labor.
I ended the call immediately and dialed Rachel’s emergency legal line.
“Rachel, check the county property records right now,” I pleaded frantically.
I could hear her fingers flying rapidly across her computer keyboard in the background.
She gasped loudly, a sound I had never heard my brilliant attorney make in eight years.
“Lena, there is a notarized quitclaim deed filed here with your exact signature on it,” Rachel whispered in shock.
Grant had forged my signature while I was drugged and vulnerable in the maternity ward.
If this forged document held up in court, the cash buyer would walk away completely.
I would lose the house, the money, and any chance of securing my daughter's future.
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Suddenly, a loud, violent shattering sound echoed from the front porch of the mansion.
Brooke had just hurled a heavy marble vase directly through the custom glass of my front door.
