By eight the next morning, I had slept for perhaps forty minutes.
The apartment had been swept twice.
Three recording devices and one camera were removed.
Jason’s laptop was taken as evidence.
The mysterious binder was photographed and collected.
Mr. Henderson replaced the locks and revoked every building credential connected to Jason or Eleanor.
Still, I did not feel safe.
Safety had once meant locking the door.
Now it meant wondering whether someone had been listening before I knew there was danger.
Natalie slept on the sofa.
Mom refused to leave.
Dad went home only long enough to shower and return with clean clothes.
Rebecca stayed until sunrise, then finally left after making me promise to call.
Claire disappeared with a friend.
She would not go home to Eleanor.
At seven thirty, my phone rang.
Mr. Kaplan.
“I heard.”
Apparently everyone had.
“I need a divorce lawyer.”
“You need several lawyers.”
Despite everything, I smiled.
“That bad?”
“Worse.”
He arranged for a matrimonial attorney named Laura Chen to meet me that morning.
At eight forty-five, the doorman called.
“Ms. Roberts, Mr. Montes is downstairs.”
My stomach clenched.
“He’s not permitted up.”
“He has an attorney.”
Mom stood.
Dad moved toward the entryway.
Mr. Henderson came on the line.
“The attorney is requesting supervised access for Jason to retrieve personal belongings.”
Laura Chen had arrived ten minutes earlier.
She took the phone.
“Send the attorney upstairs alone.”
Five minutes later, a man in his fifties entered.
His name was David Sloan.
He carried a leather briefcase and the controlled irritation of someone whose morning had become expensive.
“Mrs. Montes.”
“Ms. Roberts.”
He accepted the correction.
“My client would like to collect clothing, business materials, and personal effects.”
Laura stood beside me.
“He can provide a list.”
“He is entitled to his possessions.”
“He is not entitled to wander through an apartment currently connected to a criminal investigation.”
Sloan looked toward the evidence tags still visible near the study.
His expression changed slightly.
“I understand law enforcement has already completed its search.”
Officer Grant, who had returned that morning, answered from behind him.
“We haven’t.”
Sloan turned.
He had not realized Grant was there.
“That complicates things.”
“Yes,” Grant said.
Sloan adjusted his cuff.
“My client can wait downstairs.”
Laura nodded.
“Good.”
A list arrived by email fifteen minutes later.
Clothing.
Shoes.
Toiletries.
Several watches.
Two framed photographs.
Business files.
A laptop.
Grant read it.
“He’s not getting the laptop.”
Sloan sighed.
“I assumed.”
Then we reached the business files.
The request described three binders by name.
One was MONTES CAPITAL.
The binder now sitting in an evidence bag.
Grant looked at Sloan.
“Your client specifically asked for this?”
“Yes.”
Laura spoke.
“Interesting.”
Sloan’s expression remained neutral.
“Why?”
“Because last night Jason told Sophia he had no idea what that binder was.”
Sloan stopped.
I almost admired how little his face showed.
Almost.
“Clients say many things under stress.”
Grant made a note.
Laura smiled without warmth.
“Some statements are more useful than others.”
The retrieval began without Jason entering.
Dad and Mr. Henderson collected clothing under Grant’s supervision.
Natalie packed toiletries.
I stayed in the study with Laura.
The room felt violated.
The empty spot behind the engagement photograph seemed to stare at me.
Laura reviewed the documents from Mr. Kaplan.
“Your mother acted at exactly the right time.”
I looked toward the living room.
“She enjoys hearing that.”
Laura ignored the joke.
“The property structure means Jason has very little room to argue immediate ownership.”
“Very little?”
“He may argue marital residency rights or attempt other claims. Ownership is stronger.”
I rubbed my forehead.
“I married him yesterday.”
“Yes.”
“And I’m already discussing divorce.”
“Yes.”
“Is there any chance this marriage can simply disappear?”
“Annulment may be possible depending on what we establish.”
“Fraud?”
“Potentially.”
The word sat heavily between us.
I thought of the binder.
The date beside my name.
The six-week head start.
“If he chose me because of the apartment?”
“That matters.”
“What if he never intended a real marriage?”
“That matters more.”
Officer Grant entered.
“We found something.”
My heart sank.
“What now?”
He held a small envelope.
“This was inside the lining of one of Mr. Montes’s suitcases.”
Sloan appeared behind him.
“I need to object to the search.”
Grant answered calmly.
“We did not search the suitcase. Mr. Roberts lifted it, and the lining tore.”
Dad stood nearby holding a black suitcase with a ripped seam.
“Cheap luggage,” he said.
I would have laughed under any other circumstances.
Grant looked at me.
“The envelope has your name.”
I stared.
“My name?”
Written across the front was SOPHIA.
Jason’s handwriting.
Laura stepped closer.
“Has it been opened?”
“No.”
Sloan immediately spoke.
“My client may assert privilege.”
Laura looked at him.
“Between husband and wife?”
“Potentially.”
Grant handed the envelope to me.
“It’s yours.”
Sloan objected again.
Laura said, “David, save it.”
I opened it.
Inside were copies of financial documents.
Not mine.
At first.
The first page showed a company registration.
Montes Meridian Holdings.
Jason was listed as managing member.
The second page was a loan summary.
The third was a spreadsheet.
Then I found my name.
Property: East 82nd Street apartment.
Estimated value: $2.05M.
Acquisition route: marriage / voluntary restructuring.
My hands began shaking.
Laura took the page carefully.
“May I?”
I nodded.
She read.
Dad swore.
Mom sat down.
Sloan stopped speaking entirely.
There were columns.
Asset.
Estimated liquidity.
Owner vulnerability.
Approach.
My line contained notes.
Trust objection from mother likely.
Need execute before ceremony if possible.
I looked up.
“Before ceremony?”
Grant took a photograph.
Laura continued reading.
“Possible signature package during honeymoon planning.”
I felt nauseated.
The photocopy of my driver’s license.
Travel paperwork.
Mom stepped beside me.
“What signature package?”
No one answered.
I searched the remaining pages.
Then I found it.
A draft transfer agreement.
My name appeared throughout.
So did Jason’s.
The document proposed moving my apartment into a jointly controlled entity.
The signature line at the bottom was blank.
But attached to it was a photocopy of my driver’s license.
The same one I had given him.
I sat down.
Laura’s voice sharpened.
“This is significant.”
Sloan rubbed his forehead.
“I need to speak with my client.”
Grant looked at him.
“You probably do.”
There were more pages.
A printed email between Jason and Eleanor.
Not recent.
Four months old.
I read Eleanor’s message first.
You need her legally committed before Margaret gets involved.
Jason replied.
Mom is suspicious but Sophia pushes back when she feels controlled. That helps us.
I could not breathe for several seconds.
My mother read over my shoulder.
Her face went white.
The next email was worse.
Eleanor: Does she know about Rebecca?
Jason: No. She believes Rebecca was a girlfriend.
Eleanor: Keep it that way until after the deed changes.
I closed my eyes.
There it was.
No interpretation required.
No misunderstanding.
No accident.
Jason knew exactly what he was hiding and why.
Laura gently took the page.
“This supports fraudulent inducement.”
I looked at her.
“Meaning?”
“That he concealed material facts in order to get you to marry him.”
Sloan was already walking toward the door.
“I’m going downstairs.”
Grant stopped him.
“One question.”
Sloan turned.
“Did your client tell you these documents existed?”
“No.”
“Did he tell you he knew Ms. Roberts before they met socially?”
“No.”
Sloan’s irritation had disappeared.
Now he looked tired.
He left.
Mom sat beside me.
For a moment, neither of us spoke.
Then she said, “I am sorry.”
I looked at her.
“For what?”
“For not telling you about Rebecca sooner.”
I wanted to stay angry.
Part of me still was.
But beside the documents proving Jason had studied my weaknesses, my mother’s secrecy looked different.
“You were trying to let me see him.”
“Yes.”
“You could have lost me.”
Her eyes filled.
“I knew.”
I took her hand.
Before either of us could say more, the intercom buzzed.
Mr. Henderson answered.
His expression changed.
“What?”
He listened.
Then looked at me.
“Jason’s attorney left.”
“So?”
“Jason is still downstairs.”
Grant moved toward the door.
“Tell security not to let him up.”
Henderson listened again.
Then frowned.
“He isn’t trying to come up.”
“What is he doing?”
“He’s standing outside.”
I went to the window despite everyone telling me not to.
Far below, Jason stood on the opposite sidewalk.
No coat.
Hands in his pockets.
Looking up.
At my windows.
Laura came beside me.
“Don’t engage.”
“I’m not.”
My phone rang.
Jason.
I declined.
It rang again.
Declined.
Then a voicemail notification appeared.
Grant asked me not to listen until he could record it.
He put the phone on speaker.
Jason’s voice filled the room.
“Sophia, I know you found the envelope.”
Everyone went still.
He continued.
“There are things in there that look worse without context.”
Laura closed her eyes briefly.
Jason’s voice became softer.
“You think Rebecca told you everything. She didn’t.”
Rebecca.
Again.
Then:
“Ask her why she signed a settlement agreement promising never to discuss what really happened with the townhouse.”
I looked at Mom.
She looked equally confused.
Jason continued.
“Ask her where the missing six hundred thousand dollars went.”
Rebecca had never mentioned missing money.
My stomach tightened.
Jason’s final words came slowly.
“And before you trust her, ask your mother why Rebecca called her three months before our engagement announcement.”
The message ended.
Silence.
I turned toward Mom.
“You said Rebecca contacted you six weeks ago.”
Mom’s face had changed.
“Yes.”
“Jason says she contacted you months earlier.”
“He’s lying.”
Maybe.
Probably.
But I had spent two years accepting answers because I wanted them to be true.
I would not make that mistake again.
“Give me your phone.”
Mom stared at me.
“Sophia.”
“Please.”
She hesitated.
That hesitation was enough.
Dad looked at her.
“Margaret?”
Mom sat very still.
Then she unlocked her phone and handed it to me.
I searched Rebecca’s number.
The call history loaded.
Six weeks earlier.
Several calls.
Then I scrolled farther.
Three months before our engagement announcement, there it was.
Rebecca Hale.
Incoming call.
Duration: four minutes, twelve seconds.
I looked at my mother.
The room seemed to hold its breath.
“You did speak to her.”
Mom closed her eyes.
“Yes.”
The word hurt more than I expected.
“What did she tell you?”
Mom looked at Dad, then at me.
“Not enough.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“No.”
My grip tightened around the phone.
“What happened on that call?”
She took a slow breath.
“Rebecca didn’t call to warn me about Jason.”
The apartment suddenly felt cold.
“Then why did she call?”
Mom looked toward the envelope, the hidden devices, the documents Jason had left behind.
“She called because she thought Jason was already watching you.”
Click here to continue reading: PART 9: My Mother Finally Explained the First Call From Rebecca, and the Truth Reached Back to Before Jason Ever Said Hello
Two Weeks Before My Wedding, My Mother Demanded My Apartment Deed and Refused to Tell Me What She Knew
Part 8 of 50
