“Did you give him permission to use your house as an investment?” This time, she seemed offended.
“Absolutely not.” There it was. I wanted to argue with reality. I really wanted to. Instead, I said, “Okay.”
“Okay, what?”
“Okay, I needed to know.” Marlene’s voice softened slightly.
“Elaine, what did Daniel do?”
“I still don’t know.” She remained quiet. Then she said, “Call someone who knows.”
That’s when I thought of Karen. Karen Bell and I had known each other since our daughters were in elementary school. She was a divorce lawyer, which always struck me as a little funny, because she had one of the most peaceful marriages I’d ever known. I called her office. Her assistant said she was in court. I said it was a personal matter. Karen called me back 40 minutes later.
“What happened?” No hello. Karen was efficient in that way.
I told her. She didn’t interrupt me much. When I finished, she said, “Do you still have the original documents?”
“Yes.”
“Great. Don’t write on them. Don’t destroy anything.”
“I didn’t plan on doing that.”
“Don’t contact Scott.”
“I hadn’t planned on doing that either.”
“Do not use the key.”
“I don’t even know what it opens.”
“Excellent. Continue not knowing for now.” That looked like Karen. Then she said, “And don’t confront Daniel tonight.”
“He’s in Dallas.”
“Even better.” I leaned back in my chair. “Karen, do you think this is fraud?”
“I don’t think you know enough to use that word yet. But, Elaine—” Her tone shifted slightly. “Right now, you have papers you don’t fully understand, a note you don’t like, and a mother-in-law who says she never agreed to borrow that money. That’s enough to worry about. It’s not enough to start accusing people.”
I knew she was right. Still, I hated hearing it. “So, what do I do?”
“First, Marlene needs to check her own records: her bank, her lawyer, anyone who handles her estate documents. And me? You preserve everything. And start thinking about what Daniel asked you recently.”
That kept hammering in my head. After we hung up, I sat there going over the last two months. That’s when the usual conversations started coming back. Daniel at dinner one night cutting a pork chop. “Do you know where the latest IPTU (Property Tax) statement is?”
I had said, “In the file.”
“Why? Just updating our records?”
Another night, “Has your bonus already been credited to your account?”
“Yes.”
“How much was it after taxes?” I had provoked him. “Are you already planning my retirement?”
He laughed. “Just out of curiosity.”
Then there was something he said about Marlene. We were sitting in the living room. He was in that reclining chair. Of course it was. He had said that Mom signs things without reading even half of them. I remember looking at him. “She’s 78 years old, Dan. She’s not stupid.”
“I didn’t say stupid.”
“You implied it.” He shrugged. “I said confidently.” At the time, I thought he was being dismissive. Now I couldn’t stop hearing that word: confidently.
My phone rang around 7 p.m. that night. Daniel. I looked at his name for a few seconds before answering. “Hi, what’s up?”
He seemed cheerful. Hotel noise in the background. “You barely survived without me.” He laughed. “How’s Mom?” That caught me off guard. I looked at the envelope.
“She’s fine. Did she mention anything?” My fingers tightened on the phone.
“About what?” A pause. Not too long. Just enough. Then he said, “Nothing. Just checking.”
I could have asked him there. I almost did that. Instead, he said, “How’s Dallas?”
He started talking about a dinner with clients. I could barely hear him. After we hung up, I sat at the table for a long time. And that was the worst part of those first 24 hours. Not knowing if I was finally seeing Daniel clearly or if I was picking up a handful of strange papers and turning my husband into someone he wasn’t.
Then Marlene called me again. Her voice was different this time. “Elaine, what happened? I spoke to the bank.” I got up without realizing it. “And there’s something pending against my house.” I closed my eyes. “They said it’s in the final stage.”
“When?”
“Friday.” The same word. Marlene was silent for a moment. Then she said something I can still hear exactly. “Elaine, I never borrowed that money.” That was the moment I stopped trying to find excuses.
Later that night, Karen called. “I did a preliminary check on that company name.”
“Hawthorne?”
“Yes.” I waited. Karen said, “Elaine, Hawthorne isn’t just paperwork.”
“What?”
“So, is that it? It’s Daniel’s investment.”
Karen came the next morning with coffee and a yellow notepad. She didn’t bring a briefcase. She didn’t arrive looking like someone from television about to expose a criminal conspiracy. She walked through my kitchen door wearing black pants and loafers, put a cardboard drink holder on the table, and said, “Before we do anything else, eat something.”
“I’m not hungry.”
“I didn’t ask.” She shoved a blueberry muffin toward me. That was Karen. I ate half, mostly to get her to stop staring at me.
She’d already pulled up some basic public information about Hawthorne Property Ventures LLC. Nothing secret, nothing dramatic. Daniel and Scott Avery were connected to it. The company had been formed the previous year to buy and renovate a small commercial building in northwest Columbus. I knew the building. Not well, but I’d driven past it before. An old two-story brick building with a dentist’s office at one end and empty shops at the other.
