Chapter 1 — The File Drawer
Lorraine screamed so loudly in the hallway that three neighbors opened their doors.
“This woman is unstable!” she cried, clutching her purse to her chest while building security stood between us. “My son owns this apartment!”
The building manager, Mr. Patel, looked at me.
I handed him my driver’s license, my closing documents from the cloud folder on my phone, and the property tax record with my name on it.
His expression changed immediately.
“Mrs. Whitmore,” he said to Lorraine, “you are not listed as an owner, tenant, or authorized guest. You need to leave the property.”
Lorraine’s face went red.
“I am calling Daniel.”
“Please do,” I said.
Because by then, I wanted him there.
Security escorted her downstairs, still yelling about disrespect and family betrayal. I shut the door, leaned against it, and listened to the silence she left behind.
Then I saw Daniel’s file drawer.
It sat under my desk.
Not his desk.
Mine.
The lock had been forced open.
Inside were folders I hadn’t touched in months: insurance, tax documents, apartment renovation receipts, mortgage statements.
But one folder was new.
A navy-blue folder labeled TRANSFER.
My stomach tightened.
Inside were photocopies of my deed, my signature, and a notarized document claiming I had agreed to transfer partial ownership of the apartment to Daniel.
Except I had never signed it.
The signature looked like mine from a distance.
But I knew the truth immediately.
Daniel had traced it.
Badly.
