Chapter 8 - The Night Someone Broke Into Our Apartment
We stayed with Evelyn for three nights.
Nick hated the idea.
I insisted.
Not because I thought Martha was going to break into our bedroom with another pair of scissors.
Because Daniel said we needed to stop treating her actions like family conflict.
“When money starts moving,” he said, “people become unpredictable.”
The forensic accountant found more transfers.
Smaller amounts.
Spread across months.
Payments disguised as consulting fees.
Some went to Mercer-controlled companies.
Others led to shell corporations Daniel’s team hadn’t identified yet.
Richard resigned temporarily from company operations.
Evelyn convened an emergency board meeting.
Martha received formal notice that her access to company accounts had been suspended.
Diane Mercer received one too.
Then Martha called me.
Not Nick.
Me.
I stared at her name on my screen.
Nick said, “Don’t answer.”
I did.
“Hello?”
Her voice was calm.
Too calm.
“You finally got what you wanted.”
I almost admired the consistency.
“What did I want?”
“My son against me.”
“Martha—”
“My husband sleeping somewhere else.”
“Richard made that decision.”
“My mother-in-law humiliating me in front of the company.”
“Evelyn is your mother-in-law?”
She went silent.
I hadn’t thought about the symmetry until then.
Martha had spent years tormenting me while complaining about her own.
“That’s different.”
“Of course it is.”
“You think you’re clever.”
“No. I think you’re scared.”
Another silence.
Then:
“You should tell Nick to be careful.”
Every muscle in my body tightened.
“Is that a threat?”
“No.”
“What is it?”
“A warning.”
“About what?”
“You’re digging into things none of you understand.”
“You filed a false complaint against my job.”
“I never admitted that.”
“You wrote it in a text.”
Her breath caught.
Just slightly.
I understood.
Richard had taken the phone without telling her.
“You have my phone.”
“Daniel has it.”
“You went through private messages?”
“You mean evidence?”
Her voice sharpened.
“That phone belongs to me.”
“Take it up with your husband.”
I hung up.
My hands shook afterward.
Nick held them until they stopped.
The next afternoon, police called.
Our apartment had been broken into.
We drove there with an officer.
The front door frame was damaged.
Drawers had been opened.
Closets searched.
But the television remained.
My laptop remained.
Nick’s expensive watch remained on the dresser.
Nothing valuable was missing.
At first.
Then I went into the spare bedroom.
Our wedding boxes had been opened.
Cards scattered.
Photographs thrown across the floor.
One box was gone.
“The braid.”
Nick looked at me.
“What?”
I pointed.
“I put it there.”
After the reception, Jenna had wrapped my severed braid in tissue and placed it in a white keepsake box.
I didn’t know what I planned to do with it.
Keep it.
Bury it.
Throw it away.
I hadn’t decided.
Now it was gone.
Nick stared at the empty space.
“Why would anyone take your hair?”
The police officer heard him.
“What exactly was stolen?”
I explained.
His expression changed.
“Anything else?”
We searched.
A folder containing copies of the emails Olivia gave us was gone.
The originals remained digitally stored elsewhere.
But whoever came inside had taken the printed copies.
My braid.
And nothing else.
The officer asked the obvious question.
“Who knew those things were here?”
Nick and I looked at each other.
“Martha,” I said.
“Not specifically,” Nick replied.
“She knew we had evidence.”
The officer wrote her name down.
I felt strangely sick watching him do it.
Not because she didn’t deserve suspicion.
Because once someone’s name enters a police notebook, pretending everything is normal becomes harder.
Our building had a security camera.
The footage showed a man in a baseball cap entering behind another resident.
He wore gloves.
His face remained angled away.
But when he left, he carried a white box.
My box.
Police took the recording.
That evening, Olivia called.
“Do you know anyone named Gary Cole?”
Nick frowned.
“No.”
I didn’t either.
“Why?”
“My mother used to pay him.”
“For what?”
“Security. Driving. Things she didn’t want company employees doing.”
My stomach tightened.
“Can you send a picture?”
Five minutes later, one arrived.
Nick enlarged it.
Same height.
Same build.
Similar walk.
Not proof.
But enough to make me cold.
Daniel sent the information to police.
Then Evelyn called us downstairs.
She had been reviewing old trust documents.
“I found something strange.”
At that point, strange had become our family’s default setting.
She placed an old ledger on the table.
“My husband kept notes on major family agreements.”
The handwriting belonged to Nick’s grandfather.
One entry was dated seventeen years earlier.
Evelyn pointed.
Martha requested advancement against Richard’s future distribution. Denied. Concern regarding gambling debt.
Richard stared.
“Gambling?”
Evelyn nodded.
“Your wife had a problem before Nick finished high school.”
Nick’s face changed.
“What kind of problem?”
“Casino debt.”
Richard looked stunned.
“She told me those charges were charity expenses.”
Evelyn gave him a sad look.
“I know.”
Another note.
Diane Mercer offered private loan to M.B. — advised strongly against accepting.
Olivia covered her mouth.
“Our mothers have been doing this for seventeen years.”
Evelyn turned the page.
There was one final entry.
If Martha continues, revise trust before harm reaches Nicholas.
Nick stared at his grandfather’s handwriting.
Then Daniel’s phone rang.
He answered.
Listened.
His expression changed.
“What?”
We all waited.
He ended the call.
“That was the bank.”
Richard stood.
“They found the original guarantee?”
“Yes.”
“Is my signature forged?”
Daniel looked at him.
“It appears so.”
Richard closed his eyes.
But Daniel wasn’t finished.
“There’s something else.”
He placed his phone down.
“The bank also has security footage from the day the document was delivered.”
My stomach dropped.
“Who delivered it?”
May you like
Daniel looked directly at Olivia.
“Your mother.”
