Chapter 5 - TWENTY-FOUR HOMES THAT NEVER EXISTED
“Twenty-four houses?”
Sophia stared at Adam's phone.
“That's impossible.”
Adam swiped to another photograph.
Then another.
A gravel entrance.
A portable office.
Three unfinished concrete foundations.
And a wooden sign announcing:
BIRCH HOLLOW COTTAGES — WHERE YOUR NEXT CHAPTER BEGINS.
The words made my stomach turn.
I had seen that advertisement on Sophia's Facebook page.
Beautiful homes.
Peaceful gardens.
Happy retirees walking beneath flowering trees.
She had called it the proudest campaign of her career.
“You're lying,” Sophia whispered.
Adam looked almost offended.
“I wish I were.”
Dad reached for the phone.
“How recent are these pictures?”
“Yesterday afternoon. They're dated, and the originals are still on my phone.”
Sophia folded her arms.
“Construction delays happen.”
“Sure,” Adam said. “But construction permits don't just disappear.”
He explained that his small renovation company had been hired to build the model room nine months earlier.
The work was straightforward.
Temporary walls.
A decorative fireplace.
Flooring.
A front door that opened onto nothing.
The developer had promised that the actual cottages would be built behind it.
But the permanent work never progressed.
Three months ago, Adam returned to collect an unpaid invoice.
The property was practically abandoned.
“The county records showed the building permits had expired,” he said. “I thought the project had been canceled.”
Sophia shook her head.
“Nolan told me they were applying for revised permits.”
“Then why did you advertise completed homes?”
Her mouth opened.
Closed.
I looked at my sister.
“Sophia?”
She stared at the cake.
“We had a launch deadline.”
“What does that mean?”
“My agency had already paid photographers, designers, and event planners. Nolan said the revised permits were administrative.”
“And you believed him?”
“He showed me construction schedules!”
Adam looked at her.
“Did you ever visit the entire property?”
Sophia didn't answer.
That was answer enough.
Dad rubbed his face.
“Maybe this is just a terrible misunderstanding.”
I almost snapped at him.
But then I noticed something.
He wasn't looking at Sophia anymore.
He was looking toward the framed photograph on the mantel.
It showed our grandmother June standing between my sister and me at a Fourth of July picnic.
Grandma had died four years earlier.
She'd lived in the same Chesterfield neighborhood for nearly fifty years.
Everyone knew her.
Everyone trusted her.
And suddenly I remembered something Sophia had mentioned the previous spring.
Her company had organized a private presentation for local retirees.
A presentation about Birch Hollow.
My skin went cold.
“Dad,” I asked, “did Grandma's friends attend Sophia's launch event?”
He looked up.
“Some of them.”
“How many?”
“I don't remember.”
“Did any of them put down deposits?”
Mom made a strange little sound.
I turned toward her.
“Mom?”
She pressed a tissue against her mouth.
“Linda,” Dad said.
“I didn't know,” she whispered.
“Know what?”
“That the construction wasn't finished.”
I stared at her.
“You knew people were paying for homes?”
“They were refundable reservation deposits.”
My chest tightened.
“Who told you that?”
“Nolan.”
Of course.
Nolan Pierce.
His name had become the explanation for every decision nobody wanted to own.
Sophia stood abruptly.
“Those deposits were held in escrow.”
“Did you verify that?” Adam asked.
“My agency didn't handle escrow!”
“But you advertised the project as move-in ready.”
“It was supposed to be!”
I could see her struggling to hold onto the version of events in which she had simply trusted the wrong businessman.
Then Adam said something that made her go silent.
“Your brochure has photographs of families standing outside cottages that were never built.”
Sophia looked at him.
“The photographer arranged those.”
“Using backgrounds?”
“Using architectural renderings.”
“Did the people buying those cottages know that?”
She lowered her eyes.
No answer.
I stepped away from the table.
“Did Grandma's friend Evelyn Ward attend that event?”
Dad looked startled.
“Why?”
“Because Evelyn sold her house last year. Mom told me she was moving somewhere with assisted-living options.”
Mom began crying again.
“She was so excited.”
The room seemed to tilt.
Evelyn had been Grandma's closest friend.
She'd brought us homemade jam every Christmas.
After Grandma died, she'd continued sending birthday cards because, as she always said, somebody needed to remember the little things.
I pictured her sitting in a beautiful presentation room, trusting the Callaway family because she had known us for decades.
And I wondered how much she'd lost.
“I need to tell Agent Foster about Adam's photographs,” I said.
Sophia grabbed my wrist.
“Please, Lena.”
I looked at her hand.
“Let go.”
She released me.
“If Nolan lied, I want to make it right.”
“Then stop protecting yourself long enough to tell the truth.”
She looked wounded.
But I wasn't finished.
“Who provided the names of the people you invited?”
Sophia glanced at Dad.
He looked away.
I followed his eyes toward Grandma's photograph.
The answer came together so suddenly it hurt.
Grandma had kept an old blue cloth address book.
Every birthday.
Every anniversary.
Every widowed friend who needed a ride to church.
Every neighbor who preferred a handwritten Christmas card.
After she died, Dad took the book home.
I looked at him.
“Dad, where is Grandma June's address book?”
His face went pale.
“Lena—”
“Where is it?”
He stared at the floor.
May you like
Then he whispered:
“I gave it to Sophia.”
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