Chapter 5 - The Rot Beneath the Floorboards
At 2:30 PM, Marcus called back.
“Are you sitting down?” he asked.
I wiped acetone off my hands with a shop towel. “I’m standing in a room full of severed rubber limbs, Marcus. Shock me.”
“Your sister hasn't just been using your credit card for tans,” Marcus said. “She’s been running a full-scale financial shell game, and your mother is either complicit or completely blind.”
“Explain.”
“When your father died six years ago, what happened to the deed on Ruth’s house?”
“Nothing,” I frowned. “Dad left the house to Ruth. When Ruth passes, it splits fifty-fifty between Lauren and me. That’s what the will said.”
“That’s what the will *intended*,” Marcus corrected. “Four years ago, Ruth took out a massive home equity line of credit—over two hundred thousand dollars. Did you know about that?”
My heart seized. “No. The house was completely paid off. Dad spent twenty-five years paying off that mortgage.”
“Well, the HELOC was drawn down to zero within fourteen months. All of it transferred into an LLC registered to Lauren: *Starlight Media & Research*. But that’s not the worst part. Eighteen months ago, Ruth was facing foreclosure because the interest payments spiked. To prevent the bank from seizing the house, a second deed of trust was filed.”
Marcus paused, letting the silence build.
“Who signed the second deed, Marcus?”
“You did,” Marcus said quietly. “Or rather, someone who signed your name, used your social security number, and had a mobile notary stamp it in a strip mall parking lot. Harriet, there is a private bridge loan for eighty thousand dollars against your name and credit, secured by your supposed stake in that house.”
The room seemed to spin. The smell of latex and acetone turned sour in my throat.
“They stole my identity?”
“Lauren did,” Marcus said. “The notary on record is a woman who frequently appears as a ‘guest medium’ on Lauren’s UFO podcast. It’s sloppy, amateur-hour fraud, but it was enough to fool a subprime private lender. That’s why Lauren needs five thousand dollars right now. The bridge loan defaulted thirty days ago. They’re facing a notice of trustee sale on Ruth’s house next month.”
I leaned against my workbench, my knuckles white against the stainless steel.
All those years. All those family dinners where Ruth sighed about how hard Lauren had it, how I needed to step up, how I had “so much extra” because I didn't have a family of my own. While I was working eighty-hour weeks inhaling toxic paint fumes, Lauren was forging my signature to keep her delusion alive, and Ruth was covering for her.
“What about the assault?” I whispered.
“That’s our leverage,” Marcus replied coldly. “I drafted a formal Cease and Desist, a Preservation of Evidence notice, and a criminal complaint referral. I have an investigator ready to file the fraud packet with the county sheriff’s financial crimes division.”
“Wait,” I said, my voice shaking. “What about Madison?”
“What about her?”
“She’s fourteen, Marcus. She threw a phone at my face, she’s entitled, and she’s being raised by a sociopath. But she’s fourteen. If Lauren goes to state prison, what happens to that girl?”
Marcus let out a slow breath. “Harriet, that girl was an active participant in an extortion scheme yesterday.”
“Because her mother trained her to be,” I said. “Give me until tonight. Let me talk to Madison without Lauren in the room.”
“You can’t go near them, Harriet! If Lauren calls the cops, you’re the one who gets cuffed!”
“I won't go to the house,” I said. “Madison has cheer practice at 4:30. She walks to the gym from school. I’ll meet her in public, with a witness.”
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“Take Chloe from your shop,” Marcus warned. “And keep your phone recording. If this goes sideways, I want every syllable on tape.”
***
