Chapter 3 - The Ghost in My House
The next morning, I drove to the property I had bought five years ago. The charming three-bedroom colonial looked different now—it looked like a crime scene.
I didn't knock. I used my spare key and pushed the front door open.
The house smelled of stale cigarettes and expensive perfume. In the living room, Evan was sprawled on the sofa, a beer in his hand at ten in the morning. His mother, Beatrice, was sitting at the dining table, counting stacks of cash.
They both froze when they saw me.
"Karen," Evan stammered, sitting up quickly. "What are you doing here? Delilah... Delilah left us. She took Noah and just ran off. We've been frantic."
"Save it, Evan," I said, stepping into the room and tossing a copy of the forged mortgage document onto the coffee table. "I found my daughter and grandson sleeping in a car. And I found this."
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Beatrice stood up, her designer jewelry clinking, her face hardening into a mask of pure arrogance. "Listen to me, Karen. You gave them this house. It belongs to this family now. Delilah is unstable. She’s the one who signed those papers."
"My name is on the deed, Beatrice. And that signature is a felony forgery," I replied, leaning forward. "You have twenty-four hours to pack your things and get out of my house. Because tomorrow morning, the police are coming."
