Our house.
The only property I had owned before marrying him.
I had inherited it from my father, and Daniel had spent years trying to persuade me to place his name on the deed.
I refused every time.
That morning, when Megan demanded my bank card, I finally understood the reason.
They did not need money for groceries.
They needed access before the fraud became impossible to conceal.
At 8:14 p.m., my phone began vibrating.
Daniel called eleven times.
Then Megan called.
Then Daniel again.
Finally, a message appeared.
Where are you?
I watched the screen until another text arrived.
What did you put on the table?
For the first time that day, I managed to breathe without pain.
Under my wedding ring, I had placed one photocopied page from the folder.
Not the original documents.
Not even the most damaging page.
Only a loan agreement for $312,000 bearing Daniel’s forged version of my signature.
