Chapter 17 - The Confession
The interior of the abandoned office smelled of mold, old paper, and stale dust. Ryan flicked on his phone flashlight, cutting a sharp beam through the darkness as we navigated past rows of empty desks and overturned chairs.
In the back corner stood a heavy metal lateral filing cabinet.
I pulled open the drawer labeled Prescott. Inside sat a thick, leather-bound notary register from 2017.
I flipped the pages rapidly until my fingers stopped on the entry dated November 14, 2017.
There was my name—Camille Prescott.
And right beside it, in a clumsy, hastily disguised handwriting, was a signature that looked nothing like mine.
“Look at the witness column,” Ryan said, shining his light closer.
I leaned down. Listed as the secondary witness and proxy agent for the transaction wasn't me, and wasn't even my father.
It was Mallory.
My breath hitched in my throat. My mind reeled, trying to connect the dots.
“Mallory?” I breathed, staring at the name in disbelief. “What was Mallory doing signing commercial documents with Dad in 2017? She and Ryan weren't even married yet—they were just dating!”
Linda Geller, who had followed us inside, wrapped her coat tighter around her thin shoulders. “She wasn't his daughter-in-law then. She was his administrative assistant. Arthur hired her right out of business school before she and Ryan got serious. She knew every single financial maneuver your father ran. She was the one who processed the paper trails.”
The puzzle pieces snapped together with terrifying clarity.
The entitlement. The subtle pressure at Thanksgiving. The way Mallory had pushed for my house, acting as if she had a rightful claim to my square footage all along.
She hadn't just been marrying into the family. She had been helping manage the family’s hidden portfolio—and when their financial house of cards collapsed, she expected my real estate equity to bail them all out.
May you like
“We have what we need,” Ryan said, his voice cold, hard, and entirely devoid of any remaining familial warmth. He pulled out his phone, snapped high-resolution photos of every page in the register, and turned to Linda. “Thank you, Ms. Geller. You’re going to need to sign an affidavit for the federal prosecutor tomorrow morning.”
Linda nodded miserably. “Just keep my name out of the papers.”
