Chapter 2: The Name on the Paper
“Mom, I have never signed anything authorizing this.””
Andre's voice cracked on the final word.
Loretta kept her gaze on the document.
The paper felt unnaturally heavy in her hands. The party continued around them in fragments: a chair scraping against the floor, the faint clink of silverware, a child asking his father why the cake was on the ground.
Nobody answered the child.
Camille reached for the document.
Loretta pulled it away.
“Don't touch it.””
Camille’s nostrils flared.
“It's a preliminary agreement. You're acting as though I've committed a crime.””
“Then explain the buyer.””
“The buyer is a private investment group.””
“Name?””
“I don't have to give you every detail.””
“You have to give me the name of anyone attempting to purchase my home.””
Camille let out a sharp, humorless laugh.
“Your home? That's exactly the problem. You think everything revolves around you because your name is on a deed.””
Loretta looked up.
“My name is on the deed because I paid for this house.””
“And now it's worth millions.””
The words landed harder than the cake had.
Andre stepped between them.
“Camille, stop talking.””
She looked at him in disbelief.
“Excuse me?””
“You heard me.””
“You've spent three years telling me we needed to secure our future. You said your mother was holding us back. You said—”
“I never said that!””
“You absolutely did!””
Andre's face reddened.
“Not like this!””
Loretta slowly placed the paper on the table.
“Three years?””
Camille pressed her lips together.
Andre turned toward his mother.
“Mom, please. I know this looks terrible, but I didn't know she was trying to sell your house.””
Loretta searched his face.
“Did you know someone wanted to buy it?””
He hesitated.
That hesitation answered more than he intended.
“Did you know?”” she repeated.
Andre rubbed the back of his neck.
“A developer approached us months ago. He wanted to know whether you would consider selling.””
“And what did you tell him?””
“I said I would talk to you.””
“Did you?””
“No.””
“Why?””
He looked toward Camille.
She stared back at him, daring him to continue.
Andre swallowed.
“Because I thought you'd refuse.””
Loretta nodded slowly.
There it was.
Not a forged signature. Not yet.
Something more familiar and, in its own way, more painful.
Her son had decided that her answer was an inconvenience before he had even asked the question.
“And after I refused?”” Loretta asked.
Andre looked confused.
“You never refused.””
“I didn't even know.””
He lowered his eyes.
Camille seized the opening.
“This is precisely why I handled it myself. Every conversation becomes a loyalty test. If Andre wants to build a future, he has to ask permission to breathe.””
Loretta turned toward her.
“Building a future doesn't require stealing someone else's choices.””
“I didn't steal anything!””
“Then why does that message say someone needs my signature tonight?””
Camille snatched her champagne glass from the table.
“Because the buyer has a deadline.””
“What deadline?””
“The offer expires.””
“Convenient.””
Camille slammed the glass down hard enough to splash champagne across the tablecloth.
“You know what? I'm tired of being treated like a criminal because I want something better for my husband!””
A guest near the doorway quietly guided two elderly relatives toward the living room.
Loretta watched them go, then looked back at Camille.
“Something better for your husband, or something more expensive for yourself?””
Camille's face twisted.
“You have no idea what I've sacrificed.””
“Then tell us.””
“I gave up opportunities to support Andre. I moved into this house and spent years being reminded that it belonged to you. Every room, every meal, every decision comes with the same message: I'm a guest. I'm not family.””
Loretta's expression softened for half a second.
She remembered the first Thanksgiving after Andre's wedding, when Camille had insisted on preparing the entire dinner and cried in the pantry because the gravy wasn't right.
Loretta had sat beside her on the floor, handed her a clean towel, and told her that nobody in this family measured love by gravy.
She had believed those tears.
Perhaps Camille had, too.
But a painful history did not explain a secret property sale.
“You could have told me you felt unwelcome,” Loretta said.
“You could have asked me to change things.””
Camille laughed bitterly.
“And would you have?””
“Yes.””
“You say that now.””
“Because it's true.””
“Then prove it.””
Loretta held her gaze.
“Tell me the buyer's name.””
Camille looked away.
The silence was answer enough.
Andre picked up the preliminary agreement and examined the fine print.
“There's a closing date here.””
Loretta leaned closer.
“When?””
He looked at the page.
“Tomorrow morning.””
Several guests gasped.
Camille quickly reached for the document.
Andre moved it behind his back.
“Tomorrow morning? You told me we were only discussing options!””
“We were.””
“Then why is there a closing date?””
“It's conditional!””
“On what?””
Camille’s eyes darted toward Loretta.
“Her signature.””
The room seemed to shrink.
Loretta reached into the pocket of her burgundy dress and took out her reading glasses. She unfolded them carefully, slid them onto her nose, and examined the agreement again.
The buyer’s identity had been left off the copy.
But another detail caught her attention.
A paragraph near the bottom referred to a separate authorization document, one that supposedly allowed Andre to coordinate the transaction if Loretta became unavailable.
She read the sentence twice.
Then she turned to her son.
“Have you ever signed a power of attorney?””
“No.””
“Have you ever asked me to sign one?””
“No, Mom.””
Camille interrupted.
“It was only a draft.””
Loretta didn't look at her.
“Then why does this agreement refer to it as an existing authorization?””
“Legal language is complicated.””
“Not to me.””
Loretta removed her glasses.
For thirty years, she had negotiated commercial leases, reviewed purchase agreements, and rejected contracts that other people signed without reading. She knew that a blank space could be as dangerous as a false statement.
She also knew that the most important page in a transaction was often the one somebody tried to keep out of sight.
“Where is the authorization?”” she asked.
Camille folded her arms.
“I don't know.””
“Then why did you say it was a draft?””
“Because I saw one!””
“Where?””
“In the office.””
Andre stared at her.
“What office?””
“Your mother's office.””
Loretta's fingers tightened around the glasses.
Her private office was on the second floor, behind a locked walnut door. Only three people had ever possessed keys: Loretta, her late husband, and the housekeeper who had worked for them for twenty-two years.
Andre had not been given a key.
Neither had Camille.
“Have you been inside my office?”” Loretta asked.
Camille lifted her chin.
“I live here.””
“That wasn't my question.””
“I needed to retrieve something.””
“What?””
“Nothing that concerns you.””
Loretta turned to Andre.
“Did you give her a key?””
“No.””
“Did you ever see her enter my office?””
He opened his mouth, then stopped.
Camille noticed.
“What?”” she demanded.
“Say it.””
Andre stared at his wife.
“Last week, you told me your mother had asked you to organize some documents upstairs.””
Camille’s face went rigid.
“You told me you wouldn't bring that up.””
“You said she gave you permission!””
“She did!””
Loretta stood very still.
“Last week,” she repeated.
Camille's breathing quickened.
“You're twisting everything.””
“Then untwist it. What did you take from my office?””
“Nothing!””
“Why were you looking for documents?””
“Because someone has to think about the future!””
Andre took a step backward.
His wife had just admitted enough to frighten him, but not enough to explain anything.
Loretta folded the agreement and placed it inside her handbag.
“I'm going upstairs.””
Camille immediately moved in front of her.
“No.””
The word came out too quickly.
Loretta stopped.
“Excuse me?””
“You can't just go up there.””
“It's my house.””
“Your office is a mess. You don't want the guests seeing that.””
“My office is behind a locked door.””
Camille's mouth opened.
Then closed.
Loretta looked at Andre.
“Come with me.””
He nodded and moved toward the staircase.
Camille grabbed his arm.
“Don't you dare.””
Andre looked down at her hand.
“Let go.””
“If you go up there with her, you'll regret it.””
He pulled his arm free.
“I'm already regretting something.””
He followed his mother upstairs.
The guests watched them disappear around the landing.
Camille remained beside the ruined cake, surrounded by blue balloons and broken plates.
For several seconds, she didn't move.
Then she reached into her purse and pulled out a second phone.
Her fingers shook as she typed.
*SHE FOUND THE MESSAGE. ANDRE IS GOING UPSTAIRS.*
The reply arrived almost immediately.
*GET THE ORIGINAL BEFORE SHE DOES.*
Camille stared at the screen.
A second message appeared.
*IF SHE FINDS PAGE SEVEN, WE'RE ALL FINISHED.*
Her eyes snapped toward the staircase.
Above her, a door opened.
May you like
And Loretta's voice rang through the house.
“Andre, why is my safe open?””
