I had to go straight to the precinct.

My phone sat in the cup holder, its screen still glowing with the image of my empty backseat.

Just thirty minutes ago, I had been standing in the shadows of our upstairs hallway.

I had held my breath, my back pressed against the cold wallpaper my grandmother had chosen decades ago.

Through the crack in the study door, I had watched Rylan and Solene.

I had raised my phone, my thumb trembling as I hit the record button.

I captured every single word.

“She won’t check the land registry,” Solene had said, her voice dripping with satisfaction.

“By the time she realizes the deed has been transferred, the loan will already be cleared,” Rylan had replied.

I had watched him sign my name on the final set of loan documents.

He had used his silver fountain pen, the one I bought him for our anniversary.

When they walked down to the kitchen to make tea, I had slipped into the room.

I grabbed the manila folder from the desk.

I took the forged papers, the fake notary stamp, and the bank correspondence.