Chapter 6 - The Photograph From Brookhaven Road
I showed Grandpa the photograph.
He pulled into the next parking lot.
Didn't speak.
Didn't rush.
He simply put the car into park, adjusted his glasses, and held out his hand.
I gave him my phone.
He enlarged the contract.
Scrolled.
Read.
Then said:
“This has nothing to do with the dealership.”
“I know.”
“Do you know what company this is?”
“No.”
He zoomed toward the top.
Reeves Venture Development LLC.
Nathan.
Grandpa's expression hardened.
“What was Ava doing?”
I felt sick.
“I don't know.”
He passed the phone back.
“Call her.”
I did.
Ava answered immediately.
“What?”
“What is this contract?”
Silence.
“Where did you get it?”
“You sent me the picture.”
“I mean how does it exist?”
“It isn't final.”
“Why is my name on it?”
“Because Mom said you'd help.”
Grandpa's eyes closed briefly.
I gripped the phone harder.
“Helping is not signing my name.”
“Nobody signed your name.”
“I can see it.”
“It's a draft.”
“With a signature?”
“It was just to show Nathan what the paperwork would look like.”
My stomach tightened.
“Who signed it?”
She didn't answer.
“Ava.”
“I have to go.”
“Who signed my name?”
The call ended.
I stared at the screen.
Grandpa put the car back into drive.
“Where are we going?”
“Brookhaven.”
I turned.
“What?”
“We know the vehicle was there.”
“Grandpa—”
“I'm not confronting anyone.”
He looked at me.
“I want to know what is at the address.”
Twenty-three minutes later, we turned onto Brookhaven Road.
It was residential.
Nice houses.
Not mansion-level.
But expensive enough that I immediately understood why Ava liked taking pictures there.
Grandpa slowed.
“Number?”
I checked the tracker screenshot.
“412.”
We passed 408.
Then 412.
I stared.
The house had a small brass plaque beside the driveway.
ASTER LANE HOUSE
Ava's company.
Or at least its name.
There was a white sign in the front window.
Grandpa parked across the street.
“What is that?”
I zoomed with my phone camera.
PRIVATE CREATIVE OFFICE — APPOINTMENT ONLY
I almost laughed.
“Ava has an office?”
Grandpa looked skeptical.
“Apparently.”
Then a man walked out.
Same man from Ava's social media picture.
Nathan Reeves.
He wore no jacket this time.
He stood on the porch talking on his phone.
A black luxury sedan sat in the driveway.
Grandpa watched him for perhaps ten seconds.
Then started the engine.
“We're leaving.”
“That's it?”
“Yes.”
“Why did we come?”
“To establish that the place exists.”
He pulled away.
“We don't need to become detectives.”
That was very Grandpa.
He believed evidence should answer questions, not create entertainment.
Back at his house, he called his attorney.
Not mine.
His.
Margaret Sloan had handled business matters for our family longer than I had been alive.
She arrived that afternoon.
Sixty-something.
Silver hair.
Black notebook.
No wasted conversation.
I showed her the contract.
She read it twice.
“Did you sign this?”
“No.”
“Authorize anyone to sign?”
“No.”
“Authorize use of your vehicle?”
“No.”
“Give your sister a copy of your identification?”
“No.”
She looked at Grandpa.
Then Mom.
Mom had returned because Grandpa called her.
Ava had refused.
Margaret turned toward Mom.
“Did you provide Amelia's identification or ownership documents to Ava?”
Mom looked miserable.
“Yes.”
“Did you know they would be used for financing?”
“I knew she was talking to an investor.”
“That wasn't my question.”
Mom rubbed her hands together.
“I thought Amelia would help.”
Margaret's expression did not change.
“Did Amelia say that?”
“No.”
“Then you didn't know.”
Mom's eyes filled.
Margaret looked back at me.
“The document may not be legally enforceable against you if you didn't sign or authorize it.”
“May?”
“I'm not going to promise anything before I review the full file.”
That scared me more than certainty would have.
“What could happen?”
“If someone relied on fraudulent information, there could be claims. More importantly, there may be identity misuse.”
Mom whispered:
“She didn't mean it like that.”
Margaret looked at her.
“There is no harmless version of signing another person's name to a financial guarantee.”
Mom went silent.
Grandpa tapped the tracking report.
“What about the vehicle?”
Margaret looked at me.
“Keep both keys. Move the car somewhere controlled. Contact the insurance company. Notify the dealership. Freeze your credit.”
My chest tightened.
“Freeze my credit?”
“Yes.”
I hadn't considered that.
If Ava had my license.
My address.
My documents.
What else did she have?
Margaret saw the fear on my face.
“It's precautionary.”
I nodded.
We spent the next hour making calls.
Credit bureaus.
Insurance.
Dealership.
My bank.
Every call made the situation feel more real.
At six, Mom cornered me in Grandpa's kitchen.
“You're treating Ava like a criminal.”
I turned from the sink.
“She used my identity.”
“You don't know that.”
“She signed my name.”
“We don't know who signed.”
“That isn't better.”
Mom lowered her voice.
“She was desperate.”
“Why?”
Mom looked away.
“For money.”
“How much?”
“I don't know.”
“Mom.”
She sighed.
“Twenty-five thousand.”
I stared.
“For what?”
“Her business.”
“What business expenses?”
“She rented that house.”
“Brookhaven?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“She wanted a professional place to meet clients.”
“For a company with no clients?”
“She was trying to get them.”
I pressed my fingers against my forehead.
This was Ava's pattern scaled up.
Appear successful.
Assume success would follow.
Buy the costume before getting the role.
“How much is the rent?”
“Four thousand a month.”
I almost choked.
“She rented a house for four thousand dollars a month?”
“It's short-term.”
“With what money?”
Mom didn't answer.
My stomach dropped.
“With your money?”
“Some.”
“How much?”
“Amelia.”
“How much?”
“Twelve thousand.”
I stared.
Mom's savings weren't huge.
Dad left enough life insurance to pay off the house.
She worked part-time.
She was not in a position to fund fantasy businesses.
“You gave her twelve thousand dollars?”
“I invested.”
“No. You gave it to her.”
“She'll pay it back.”
“When?”
“When the company grows.”
I turned away.
Then remembered something.
The tracker.
Brookhaven.
The SUV had been there repeatedly.
But Friday's route went somewhere else after Brookhaven.
“What was Ava doing with Nathan?”
Mom shook her head.
“I don't know.”
“You introduced them?”
“A friend did.”
“Who?”
“Why does it matter?”
“Because my name is on his contract.”
Mom looked exhausted.
“He told Ava investors wanted to see personal commitment.”
“Meaning money.”
“And assets.”
There it was.
My SUV.
Grandpa entered.
He had heard the last sentence.
“What else did she tell him she owned?”
Mom went pale.
Grandpa noticed.
I did too.
“Mom?”
She sat down.
“You need to understand that Ava was under pressure.”
“What else?”
“She showed him some financial statements.”
My skin prickled.
“Whose?”
“I don't know.”
“Mom.”
“She asked to see Dad's old estate file.”
Grandpa stopped moving.
Dad.
My father.
His son-in-law.
Dead six years.
“What estate file?” I asked.
Mom looked at Grandpa.
He looked furious.
“The life insurance and trust records.”
My heart thudded.
Dad had left Mom the house.
Insurance.
A modest investment account.
There had also been money set aside separately for Ava and me when we turned twenty-five.
I was still months away.
I stared at Mom.
“Did Ava show Nathan my trust information?”
“I don't know.”
The answer meant yes.
Grandpa picked up his phone.
“We're calling Margaret back.”
Mom stood.
“Dad, don't.”
He ignored her.
Before he could dial, my phone buzzed.
Another photograph from Ava.
Not a contract this time.
A surveillance-style image.
My white SUV parked outside the Brookhaven house.
The photograph had been taken from across the street.
Below it, Ava wrote:
Nathan has been photographing the car. He knows Grandpa is involved now.
May you like
Then one more message appeared.
He says I owe him $40,000 by tomorrow.
