Chapter 3 - The Wife Before Me
I called the number back.
Disconnected.
Not unanswered.
Disconnected.
I stared at the screen until Naomi took the phone from my hand.
"Who was that?"
"Someone named Sarah."
"And?"
"She said she was Brandon's wife."
Naomi went still.
"You mean ex-wife?"
"She said wife."
Brandon had told me he'd never been married.
He had described two serious relationships.
Neither woman was named Sarah.
By morning, Officer Ramirez knew.
She told me not to investigate Sarah myself.
I promised.
Then I immediately searched public records.
I found nothing.
No marriage license.
No divorce.
No Sarah connected to Brandon.
That should have reassured me.
It didn't.
At 9:15, my attorney arrived.
Her name was Evelyn Shaw.
I'd used her firm years earlier for the condo purchase.
She examined the forged transfer agreement.
"This wouldn't automatically transfer your property," she said.
"So why create it?"
"Because if they got it recorded and you didn't notice quickly, untangling the fraud could become expensive and complicated."
"They?"
Evelyn looked at me.
"Your husband didn't notarize this himself."
I showed her Diane's name.
Her expression hardened.
"Good."
"Good?"
"They made a mistake."
"What mistake?"
"They got greedy."
Evelyn explained that the document attempted to transfer a fifty-percent interest to Brandon immediately after marriage.
It also contained language allowing either owner to refinance.
That mattered.
A lot.
"If Brandon became an owner," Evelyn said, "he might try to borrow against the condo."
"How much?"
She looked around.
"Given the property value? Potentially hundreds of thousands."
The room seemed to tilt.
This wasn't about controlling a wife.
It was about extracting money from her home.
At noon, Officer Ramirez called.
Police had interviewed Diane.
Diane claimed I had signed the document.
Badge records contradicted her.
Then investigators found something else.
Diane's notary commission had expired three months earlier.
The document was fraudulent twice over.
Brandon remained in custody pending an initial hearing.
Lorraine had not been charged with assault because the soup incident required further review.
Yet.
But she had another problem.
The kitchen footage showed intention far more clearly than she realized.
At 2:07, Sarah called again.
This time from a different number.
"Don't hang up," I said.
"I wasn't going to."
"Who are you?"
"Someone who should have warned you."
"How do you know Brandon?"
A pause.
"I met him six years ago."
"Did you marry him?"
"Not legally."
My heart slowed.
"What does that mean?"
"We had a ceremony."
Sarah told me the story.
She had been twenty-four.
Brandon was twenty-eight.
They met at a charity event.
He was charming.
Attentive.
Protective.
Lorraine loved her at first.
Then came the rules.
Clothing.
Friends.
Food.
Money.
Sarah owned a small townhouse inherited from her grandmother.
Three months after their private wedding ceremony, Brandon began asking to be added to the deed.
She refused.
Lorraine became hostile.
Then Sarah discovered something.
Brandon had never filed their marriage license.
Legally, they weren't married.
"Why?"
"I think he wanted access to my property without the obligations."
"What happened?"
"I left."
"Did he hit you?"
Silence.
That answered me.
"Did Lorraine hurt you?"
Another silence.
"Sarah."
"She pushed me down the stairs."
My throat tightened.
"Did you call police?"
"Brandon told them I fell."
"Why didn't you tell them the truth?"
"Because I was terrified."
She had moved to Wisconsin.
Changed jobs.
Changed numbers.
She hadn't spoken to Brandon in four years.
"Then how did you know about me?"
"Lorraine contacted me yesterday."
I stood.
"What?"
"She sent me your wedding photo."
"Why?"
"I don't know."
That didn't make sense.
Unless Lorraine wanted Sarah to frighten me.
Or warn me.
Neither explanation fit the woman who had smiled while Brandon slapped me.
"What did she say?"
Sarah hesitated.
"She said, 'He did it again.'"
A chill moved across my shoulders.
"Again?"
"Then she sent your number."
I didn't understand.
Why would Lorraine help me after participating in the abuse?
Sarah whispered, "Claire, there's something else."
"What?"
"Brandon wasn't the one who wanted my townhouse."
"Who did?"
Before she answered, someone knocked at my door.
Three slow knocks.
Naomi looked through the camera.
A man stood outside.
Gray suit.
Briefcase.
Unknown.
"Claire Bennett?" he called.
Evelyn had warned me not to open the door for anyone connected to Brandon.
I spoke through the intercom.
"Who are you?"
"My name is Martin Cole. I'm representing Brandon Pierce."
"What do you want?"
"To make you an offer."
"No."
"You haven't heard it."
"I don't care."
He lifted an envelope toward the camera.
"Your husband is prepared to sign an uncontested divorce agreement."
That got my attention.
"What does he want?"
"Five minutes."
"No."
"Then I'll leave the proposal."
He slid the envelope beneath the door.
I waited until he entered the elevator.
Then opened it.
Brandon offered to waive any claim to the condo.
In exchange, I would decline to cooperate with prosecutors regarding the assault and fraud investigation.
Evelyn laughed when I sent it to her.
"He can't bargain away criminal charges."
"Then why send this?"
"To scare you into silence."
At the bottom of the agreement was another clause.
I read it twice.
CONFIDENTIALITY REGARDING THE PIERCE FAMILY BUSINESS.
"What family business?"
Naomi asked.
"I don't know."
Brandon worked in corporate management.
Lorraine told people she lived on investments left by her late husband.
There was no family business.
At least none I'd heard about.
Evelyn called ten minutes later.
"Don't sign anything."
"I wasn't going to."
"And Claire?"
"Yes?"
"I searched the entity named in the confidentiality clause."
My pulse quickened.
"What is it?"
"Pierce Residential Holdings."
"So?"
"It owns fourteen properties."
I frowned.
"Brandon owns fourteen properties?"
"No."
"Who does?"
"That's where it gets interesting."
Evelyn sent me the corporate filing.
I opened it.
Pierce Residential Holdings had one managing member.
Lorraine Pierce.
Attached to the company's filings were fourteen addresses.
I scrolled.
Townhouses.
Condos.
Small apartment buildings.
Then one address stopped me.
Sarah's old townhouse.
Pierce Residential Holdings had owned it for eighteen months after Sarah left.
I called Sarah.
She answered immediately.
"Did you sell your townhouse?"
Silence.
"Sarah?"
"I lost it."
"How?"
"Brandon convinced me to sign paperwork."
My stomach dropped.
"What paperwork?"
"I thought it added him as an emergency contact."
"It transferred your property."
"Yes."
Lorraine had sold it.
The same plan.
Different woman.
Different property.
This wasn't new.
They had done it before.
But this time they had made one mistake.
They had chosen a woman whose condo had cameras, lawyers, and a paper trail.
That evening, Officer Ramirez returned.
She brought a detective.
Detective Aaron Blake.
He asked about Sarah.
I gave him everything.
He listened without interruption.
Then he placed a photograph on my kitchen counter.
"Do you recognize this woman?"
I didn't.
She was perhaps thirty-five.
Red hair.
Green eyes.
Smiling beside Brandon.
"No."
"Her name is Melissa Grant."
"Who is she?"
Detective Blake didn't answer immediately.
He placed another photograph beside it.
Another woman.
Then another.
Three women.
Three properties.
Three relationships with Brandon.
My skin went cold.
"How many?"
"We don't know."
I stared at the photographs.
Then Blake placed one final item on the counter.
A photocopy of a deed.
My condo address appeared at the top.
But it wasn't the forged transfer agreement I'd already seen.
This document was different.
It transferred one hundred percent ownership.
Not fifty.
The signature line was blank.
The recipient wasn't Brandon.
It was Pierce Residential Holdings.
Lorraine's company.
And the filing date printed at the top was tomorrow.
I looked at Blake.
"How did you get this?"
"Someone submitted it electronically twenty minutes ago."
"Who?"
He turned the page.
A digital submission certificate appeared at the bottom.
The account belonged to Diane Mercer.
But Diane was sitting inside a police interview room.
Someone else was using her credentials.
Then the security monitor beside my refrigerator chimed.
FRONT DOOR MOTION DETECTED.
We all looked toward the screen.
A figure stood outside my condo.
Detective Blake moved toward the door.
The person raised their face toward the camera.
I stopped breathing.
Sarah had described her perfectly.
May you like
It was Melissa Grant.
And she was holding a key.
