“Nathan and I have a busy day,” she said. “We’ll probably be home late.”
“Where are you going?”
“Just taking care of a few things.”
She smiled at me.
It was the same smile she had worn when I first welcomed her into my house.
Only now I could no longer trust it.
After she left, I drove to Margaret’s office.
She greeted me at the door and led me into a conference room. On the table sat several printed documents.
One was a property valuation.
Another was a draft sales agreement containing my name and address.
A third was an email exchange between Vanessa and a real-estate agent.
I stared at the papers.
“Where did these come from?”
“The agent contacted our office after discovering inconsistencies in the information provided to her,” Margaret explained. “She was told that your family was preparing the property for sale. When she requested confirmation of ownership and authorization, she became concerned.”
I read the draft agreement carefully.
My name appeared in the seller’s section.
The sale price was listed as six hundred and eighty thousand dollars.
But I had never signed it.
“I didn’t authorize this.”
“I know. That’s why we’re taking it seriously.”
Margaret pointed to a section containing a proposed power of attorney.
Someone had prepared paperwork suggesting that Nathan could act on my behalf in property-related matters.
The document had not been properly executed.
My signature was missing from the required authorization.
“They cannot simply sell your property because they are your relatives,” Margaret said. “But we need to establish whether they have attempted to use false information or documents to move the transaction forward.”
I felt sick.
“What happens now?”
“We document everything, notify the relevant parties that you have not authorized a sale, and investigate whether any official records have been altered. We’ll also discuss measures to protect your property and personal information.”
I nodded, trying to absorb what she was telling me.
Then Margaret slid another page across the table.
It was a handwritten note.
The writing looked like Vanessa’s.
The note read:
“Once the house is sold, Eleanor can move into a smaller place. Nathan and I will use the proceeds to settle the debts and secure the new property. She doesn’t need to know all the details until everything is finalized.”
I read the sentence again.
Then a third time.
“Secure the new property?” I whispered.
Margaret leaned forward.
“Do you know what that refers to?”
“No.”
I thought about the phone call, the agent, and Nathan’s insistence that the sale would help them build a future.
For the first time, I wondered whether they had already committed themselves to something they couldn’t afford.
Had they promised someone money?
Had they borrowed against an asset they didn’t own?
Or was there something even worse happening behind my back?
Margaret advised me not to confront them until we had a clearer picture.
So I went home and acted as normally as I could.
That evening, Nathan arrived with a bouquet of flowers.
“These are for you, Mom.”
I looked at the flowers, then at him.
“Thank you.”
He placed them in a vase and sat at the kitchen table.
“Vanessa tells me you’ve been asking questions about the house.”
“I have.”
“Mom, we need to talk about this rationally.”
“Then let’s be rational. Why was a sales agreement prepared in my name without my permission?”
His face drained of color.
For a moment, he looked like a child caught doing something wrong.
Then he recovered.
“It was just preliminary paperwork.”
“Did you authorize it?”
“We were exploring options.”
“Did you tell the agent I had agreed to sell?”
He rubbed his forehead.
“Vanessa handled most of the communication.”
“That isn’t what I asked.”
He stood up.
“Why are you making this so difficult?”
I remained seated.
“Because it’s my house.”
He paced across the kitchen.
“You have no idea how much pressure we’re under.”
“What pressure?”
He stopped moving.
For a moment, I thought he might finally tell me the truth.
Instead, he shook his head.
“You wouldn’t understand.”
“Then help me understand.”
He looked toward the staircase.
“I can’t talk about this right now.”
He left the room.
Later that night, I heard Vanessa speaking on the phone again.
This time, I didn’t move toward the doorway.
I stayed in my bedroom and listened from the hallway.
“We need to move faster,” she whispered. “She’s talking to a lawyer now.”
A pause.
“No, she doesn’t know about the other paperwork.”
My heart began pounding.
“The other paperwork?”
Vanessa lowered her voice further, and I couldn’t make out the next few sentences.
Then she said something that made me freeze.
“If the first plan fails, we’ll use the second one.”
The call ended.
I returned to my bedroom and locked the door.
There was more to this than a house sale.
And my son was involved.
PART 3 — THE SECRET BEHIND THEIR DESPERATION