Chapter 3 - THE HOUSE THAT WASN'T THEIRS
Susan placed the shopping bags on the counter very carefully.
“What are you doing home?”
Kloe didn't answer.
She turned the laptop around.
The renovation application filled the screen.
Susan stared at it.
Then she looked at Kloe.
“Where did you get that?”
The question was all the confirmation Kloe needed.
“From the condo association.”
Susan didn't speak.
“Did you submit this?”
“I think you should talk to Mark.”
“No. I'm talking to you.”
Susan's mouth tightened.
“It wasn't anything malicious.”
Kloe almost laughed.
“My signature is on it.”
“You were going to approve it eventually.”
“Did you sign my name?”
Susan lifted her chin.
“You're making this sound criminal.”
“It may be.”
That finally rattled her.
Susan took a step back.
“Don't threaten me.”
“I asked you a question.”
Before Susan could answer, Tyler came out of his bedroom.
“What is going on?”
Kloe pointed toward the screen.
“Did you know about this?”
Tyler looked at the application.
His eyes moved toward his mother.
That was enough.
“Oh my God,” Kloe whispered. “You both knew.”
Tyler raised his hands.
“I'm staying out of this.”
“No. You're living in my home. You're not staying out of anything anymore.”
Susan suddenly slammed her purse onto the counter.
“Enough with your home, your condo, your money. We hear it every day.”
“Because you keep acting as if it belongs to you.”
“My son lives here!”
“Your son married me. That did not transfer the deed to you.”
Susan's face went white.
Then red.
“You've always thought you were better than us.”
Kloe stared at her.
“I invited you into my home.”
“You tolerated us.”
“I supported you.”
“You kept score!”
“Because none of you paid for anything!”
The apartment went silent.
Tyler looked down.
Susan's eyes narrowed.
“You have no idea how humiliating it is to depend on somebody like you.”
“Then stop depending on me.”
The words landed between them.
Hard.
Susan's eyes filled with something Kloe couldn't identify.
Not sadness.
Hatred.
The front door opened again.
Mark walked inside.
He immediately sensed the tension.
“What happened?”
Kloe turned the laptop around.
“Ask your mother.”
Mark looked down.
His shoulders stiffened.
Then he closed his eyes.
And Kloe realized the betrayal was worse than she thought.
“You knew.”
Mark didn't respond.
“You knew.”
“I knew they were looking at possibilities.”
“They?”
“Mom and Tyler.”
“There is a forged signature on that form.”
Mark rubbed his forehead.
“Nobody was going to submit anything final without talking to you.”
“It was already submitted.”
“Kloe—”
“Did you know my signature was on it?”
Silence.
That silence destroyed something.
Not loudly.
There was no dramatic crash.
No screaming.
But Kloe felt a piece of her marriage simply detach.
“Answer me.”
Mark finally looked at her.
“I saw the form after Mom had already filled it out.”
“You saw my fake signature.”
“Yes.”
“And you said nothing.”
“I was going to talk to you.”
“When?”
Mark didn't answer.
Kloe laughed once.
It sounded strange even to her.
Then she picked up her laptop.
“Everybody out of the kitchen.”
Susan stared.
“What?”
“I need space.”
“Kloe.”
“Now.”
Something in her voice finally made them move.
Kloe locked herself inside her bedroom.
She didn't cry.
She opened every financial account she had.
Checking.
Savings.
Retirement.
Credit cards.
Joint accounts.
She changed passwords.
Downloaded statements.
Printed transaction histories.
She wasn't sure what she was looking for.
Not until she found it.
At first, the transfers seemed small.
Two hundred dollars.
Three hundred.
Five hundred.
All from the joint household account.
MARK J TRANSFER.
Over twelve months, those transfers totaled $8,420.
Kloe's hands went cold.
The joint account was funded by both salaries, but Kloe contributed more because she earned more.
She went through each month.
The transfers usually happened two or three days after payday.
Always to the same external account.
She marched into the living room.
Mark was sitting on the couch.
Susan had disappeared into her room.
Tyler was gone.
Kloe placed the statements on the coffee table.
“What is this?”
Mark looked.
His expression fell.
“Where did you get these?”
“Our bank.”
“Kloe—”
“Who have you been sending money to?”
Mark leaned back.
“Tyler.”
She stared at him.
“Eight thousand four hundred twenty dollars?”
“He needed help.”
“He lives here for free.”
“I know.”
“He eats here for free.”
“I know.”
“He doesn't pay utilities.”
“Kloe—”
“And you've secretly been sending him money?”
Mark's voice hardened.
“It was partly my money.”
“It was our household account.”
“I work too.”
“Then why hide it?”
Mark stood.
“Because I knew you'd react exactly like this.”
There it was.
Not regret.
Not apology.
Blame.
Kloe looked at the man she had married and felt like she was seeing him from across a great distance.
“What was the money for?”
“He had debt.”
“What debt?”
“Credit cards. Some personal loans.”
“How much?”
“I don't know.”
“You've given him over eight thousand dollars and you don't know how much he owes?”
Mark walked toward the window.
“He made mistakes.”
“So now I'm paying for them.”
“No. We are helping family.”
“No, Mark. You are volunteering my resources without asking.”
He turned.
“Not everything has to be a business contract.”
“Apparently with your family, it does.”
For the next week, the apartment became a battlefield fought almost entirely in silence.
Susan stopped speaking to Kloe except when necessary.
Tyler stayed in his room.
Mark came home late.
Then Susan began making changes.
Small ones.
Kloe's favorite coffee disappeared from the cabinet.
Her laundry was removed from the dryer while still wet and dumped into a basket.
Her mail started appearing opened.
Susan claimed it was accidental.
Then came the dinner party.
Kloe came home one Saturday evening to find eleven people in her living room.
Music played from the speakers.
Three children were running through the hallway.
Food covered the kitchen island.
Susan stood near the window laughing with two women Kloe had never seen.
Kloe froze inside the doorway.
Mark approached her.
“Hey.”
“What is this?”
“Mom invited some friends.”
“How many?”
Mark looked around.
“I don't know. Ten?”
“Nobody asked me.”
He lowered his voice.
“Please don't do this tonight.”
Kloe stared at him.
“Do what?”
“Make a scene.”
Kloe almost smiled.
Somehow, she had become the potential problem inside her own home.
She walked past him.
One of Susan's friends smiled.
“You must be Kloe.”
“I am.”
“Susan has told us so much about you.”
Kloe glanced toward Susan.
“I bet she has.”
The woman's smile faded.
Kloe entered her bedroom and locked the door.
An hour later, somebody tried the handle.
Then again.
“Kloe?”
Susan.
Kloe opened the door.
“What?”
Susan folded her arms.
“You're being rude.”
“To your uninvited guests?”
“They're my friends.”
“This is not your house.”
Susan's eyes flashed.
“Mark said I could invite them.”
Kloe looked over Susan's shoulder.
Mark stood at the end of the hallway.
He heard everything.
He said nothing.
Kloe nodded slowly.
“Okay.”
Susan seemed confused.
“Okay?”
“Yes.”
Kloe closed the door.
The next morning, she called a lawyer.
Her name was Rachel Alvarez.
Kloe explained everything.
The condo.
The marriage.
The family members who had moved in temporarily and stayed.
The forged renovation application.
The secret transfers.
Rachel listened without interrupting.
Finally she said, “First, don't make any impulsive decisions. Second, start documenting everything.”
“I already have.”
“Good.”
“What about getting them out?”
“We can discuss the proper process. Because they've been living there for an extended period, don't assume you can simply change the locks overnight. We'll handle it correctly.”
Kloe appreciated that.
No drama.
No threats.
No mistakes.
Just procedure.
Before hanging up, Rachel asked one more question.
“Have you checked your credit recently?”
Kloe frowned.
“My credit?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because when people are comfortable signing your name to one document, I don't like assuming they stopped at one.”
That sentence stayed with Kloe.
She immediately pulled her credit reports.
At first, everything looked normal.
Then she noticed an inquiry she didn't recognize.
A regional bank.
Three weeks earlier.
Kloe called.
After forty minutes of transfers and identity verification, a lending representative finally spoke to her.
“Yes, Ms. Davis. We received a preliminary home-equity application associated with your property.”
Kloe's heart stopped.
“I never applied for a home-equity loan.”
Silence.
The representative's tone changed.
“One moment, please.”
Kloe sat on the edge of the bed.
Her fingers trembled.
When the woman returned, her voice was careful.
“Ms. Davis, I'm going to transfer you to our fraud department.”
Kloe stared at the bedroom door.
Outside, she could hear Susan laughing with Mark.
The woman continued.
“The application requested one hundred and twenty-five thousand dollars.”
Kloe swallowed.
“And whose name was on the application?”
May you like
The answer came quietly.
“Yours.”
