Chapter 2 - Christmas Lights in My Stolen House
Maren rented two adjoining rooms at a modest hotel near the hospital.
Felix chose the bed nearest the door.
That detail hurt.
Judith took a shower while Raymond lined his medications along the dresser. Maren ordered soup, grilled cheese, fruit, and hot chocolate.
When the food arrived, Felix wrapped half his sandwich in a napkin.
“You can eat it,” Maren said.
“I’m saving it.”
“For later?”
His eyes dropped.
“In case breakfast gets canceled.”
Maren went into the bathroom and cried silently for thirty seconds.
Then she washed her face and returned smiling gently.
“Breakfast doesn’t get canceled here.”
Felix studied her.
“What if I’m bad?”
“Food is not a prize for being good.”
He looked genuinely confused.
That night, after he slept, Judith told Maren more.
Russell had isolated them gradually. First he stopped answering Maren’s calls when Judith was present. Then he claimed Maren wanted distance. He intercepted packages. Birthday gifts disappeared. Money Maren sent for Raymond’s heart medication supposedly “ran short.”
“Why didn’t you contact me another way?”
“We tried.”
Judith handed her an old phone.
Messages to Maren’s number showed delivered.
Maren had never received them.
Russell had controlled the family phone plan.
Raymond said, “We thought you hated us.”
Maren whispered, “I thought you were happy.”
That was Russell’s genius.
He had not merely stolen money.
He had made everyone believe everyone else had chosen the separation.
At midnight, Maren drove alone to her neighborhood.
Every house glowed with Christmas lights.
Her house glowed brightest.
White lights lined the roof. A wreath hung on the door. Through the front window, Maren saw the twelve-foot tree she had ordered from Tampa.
Russell had texted a photograph of Felix decorating it.
Now Maren saw a blonde woman standing beside it.
Celeste.
A teenage girl lounged on Maren’s sofa.
Russell entered carrying wine.
They looked like a Christmas advertisement.
Maren sat in her rental car across the street and watched another woman live inside the life she had financed.
Then Russell kissed Celeste.
Maren did not storm inside.
She photographed everything.
A black SUV pulled into the driveway.
A man in an expensive coat entered carrying folders.
Maren recognized him.
Peter Sloan.
Their family attorney.
He had prepared the power of attorney Maren signed before moving to Tampa.
Twenty minutes later, Peter left.
Maren followed.
At a gas station, she approached him.
“Peter.”
He dropped his keys.
“Maren?”
“Surprise.”
His face told her more than words.
“You’re supposed to be in Florida.”
“So everyone keeps saying.”
He glanced toward his car.
“Russell said—”
“I’m sure Russell says many things.”
She showed him the transfer to Hale Family Holdings.
“What is this?”
Peter went pale.
“I can’t discuss a client’s—”
“I’m your client.”
“Not on that matter.”
“My name is on the company.”
Peter said nothing.
Maren stepped closer.
“What did Russell do?”
Peter whispered, “Go back to Florida.”
“Why?”
“Because you don’t understand what you came home to.”
“My son slept beside a washing machine.”
Peter closed his eyes.
“I didn’t know about Felix.”
“But you knew about the money.”
He looked around.
“Russell borrowed against the house.”
Maren’s stomach dropped.
“How much?”
“Four hundred thousand.”
“That house is paid off.”
“Not anymore.”
“For what?”
Peter hesitated.
“A development.”
“What development?”
“Wintermere Senior Living.”
Maren stared.
For five years she had cared for an elderly woman while Russell used her income to finance a senior-living company.
Then Peter said something worse.
“Maren, Wintermere isn’t Russell’s.”
“Whose is it?”
Peter’s voice fell.
“Yours.”
She laughed once.
“I’ve never heard of it.”
“That’s the problem.”
A car turned into the gas station.
Peter’s expression changed.
“Leave.”
“Who is that?”
“Please.”
The black SUV from her house rolled slowly past.
The driver looked directly at them.
Peter whispered, “Russell isn’t the only person who thinks you’re still in Tampa.”
The SUV disappeared.
Maren looked back at him.
“Who else?”
Peter swallowed.
“Your mother-in-law.”
Maren frowned.
Russell’s mother, Diane Dane, had supposedly died eighteen months ago.
May you like
Peter looked terrified.
“Diane is alive.”
