At first glance, everything seemed present. Folders, envelopes, binders.
Then I saw the gap.
A red folder was missing.
The folder with my original house purchase documents, mortgage correspondence, and title insurance paperwork.
I sat back on my heels, pulse thudding.
Copies were safe online. I had digital backups. Melissa could not simply steal my ownership with a folder.
But why take it?
My phone buzzed again.
This time, it was a message from Derek.
I almost ignored it.
Then I saw the preview.
Amanda, I didn’t know all of it. But there’s something you need to see.
A second later, an image came through.
It was a screenshot of a text conversation between Melissa and my mother.
Mom: She’ll fight at first. Let her exhaust herself.
Melissa: What if she refuses?
Mom: Then we pressure her with everyone. Once your things are there, she won’t throw family out.
Melissa: Derek’s parents sold the condo. There’s no going back.
Mom: Good. That forces Amanda to accept reality.
Melissa: And the paperwork?
Mom: I found the old folder in her office last time I visited. Bring it to me. Your cousin knows a notary.
I stopped breathing.
A notary.
My eyes flew back to the open cabinet.
The missing red folder was not about proving ownership.
It was about changing it.
Another message arrived from Derek.
There’s more. Melissa told me your mom wanted you to sign something at Sunday dinner. She said it was for “estate planning.” I thought it was weird. I’m sorry.
Sunday dinner.
The family dinner my mother had been pushing for all month. The one I had postponed because of Dallas. The one she said was important because she “wanted peace before summer.”
My hands went cold.
I scrolled back through my missed calls and saw Aunt Linda had left a voicemail. I played it on speaker.
Her voice came through tense and hurried.
