Chapter 5 - The House With Two Locks
The next morning I returned home accompanied by Nora's investigator, a retired detective named Evelyn Shaw.
My key no longer opened the front door.
A fresh electronic lock blinked red above the brass deadbolt.
Claire watched from behind the glass.
“This isn't your house anymore.”
Evelyn raised a camera.
“It certainly remains disputed property,” she said.
Price appeared over Claire's shoulder.
“Mr. Mercer has surrendered his interest.”
Nora, listening on speakerphone, replied before I could.
“Then you won't object to producing the full original document and its execution history.”
Price's smile tightened.
“I don't negotiate on front porches.”
“Neither do I,” Nora said.
“Send it to my office.”
Claire shut the door.
I stood looking at the porch we'd repainted together seven summers earlier.
There was an old scratch on the railing where she'd dragged a planter across it.
I'd intended to sand it down.
Somehow, after fourteen years, that little scratch hurt more than the lock.
Evelyn gently moved me toward the driveway.
“We're going to obtain property records and ask for temporary court orders.”
My phone vibrated.
A new email had arrived from my employer, Northline Mechanical.
I was being placed on administrative leave while the company investigated complaints alleging threatening behavior and misuse of company resources.
Attached to the email was the same edited gym video.
Someone had also accused me of diverting customer payments.
I nearly laughed at the absurdity.
Then I recognized the invoice number.
It belonged to a contract worth nearly two hundred thousand dollars.
The payment had been sent to an account I had never seen.
I called accounting.
They confirmed that a revised remittance instruction had arrived from an email address nearly identical to mine.
One letter was different.
The request had carried my electronic signature.
I was no longer dealing with a humiliating divorce.
Somebody was building a paper trail that made me look dishonest, unstable, and dangerous.
Evelyn examined the email header.
“Whoever sent this planned ahead.”
Back at Nora's office, she placed a legal pad in front of me.
“Write down every document Claire could access.”
I started with tax returns and bank statements.
Then insurance papers.
Then employment contracts.
Then the locked metal box in my closet.
Inside it were medical records, military papers, and a USB drive Rourke had given me after our final deployment.
I'd never opened that drive.
My pulse accelerated.
I called Rourke.
He didn't answer.
A minute later, he sent one message.
May you like
Do not connect that drive to any computer.
