Chapter 4 - The Buyer My Father Invented
Clare was sitting on the nursery floor when I got home.
She had three tiny dresses spread around her.
Pink.
Yellow.
White.
Our daughter was due in late August, and Clare had spent the afternoon organizing baby clothes because she said folding something small helped her feel less overwhelmed.
I sat beside her.
"How was your day?"
She looked at me.
"People are still leaving one-star reviews."
I sighed.
"I know."
"I reported the fake ones."
"Thank you."
She folded a yellow dress.
"Your mother called."
My stomach tightened.
"What did she say?"
"She wanted me to convince you to stop the sale."
"Of course."
"She said Tessa didn't mean to hurt me."
I looked at Clare's bandaged hand.
"And?"
"She said I'm dividing the family."
I stared at the floor.
Clare touched my arm.
"I didn't agree with her."
"I know."
"Ian."
I looked up.
"I don't want you to sell that house just to prove you love me."
The words surprised me.
"I'm not."
"Then why?"
I took a breath.
"Because the arrangement stopped being help and became permission for them to keep hurting us."
Clare looked down.
I continued.
"And because Dad tried to forge my signature to transfer the property."
Her head snapped up.
"What?"
I explained everything.
The authorization.
The attempted deed.
Lionel Price.
The secret acquisition company.
The two hundred and ten thousand dollars Tessa owed.
By the time I finished, Clare was staring at me as though she had never met my family.
"They tried to steal the house you bought for them."
"Looks that way."
"And then they called you selfish?"
"Yes."
She shook her head slowly.
"That's almost impressive."
I laughed despite myself.
Then her expression changed.
"Ian, why would your father want the house sold to a company he owns?"
"That's what we're trying to find out."
She thought for a moment.
"Maybe he's not buying the house."
"What?"
"Maybe he's buying something attached to it."
I frowned.
"The land?"
Clare nodded.
She was a landscape architect before taking maternity leave.
She understood property development better than I did.
"The Brookfield area has changed a lot. Remember that commercial rezoning proposal last year?"
I stared.
The house sat on a large parcel at the edge of a rapidly developing neighborhood.
I had bought it because my parents lived there.
I had never considered the land separately.
Clare continued.
"What if the house is only part of what someone wants?"
The next morning, Melissa confirmed it.
A development company had been acquiring neighboring parcels for months.
Its plans involved a luxury residential complex.
The Brookfield property was the missing central parcel.
Without it, the development couldn't proceed as originally designed.
"How much is the land worth?" I asked.
Melissa hesitated.
"The house was previously valued around one and a half million."
"And now?"
"If the developer needs the assemblage badly enough, possibly considerably more."
I leaned back.
My father wasn't just trying to obtain enough money to rescue Tessa.
He was positioning himself to profit from an entire development.
Melissa continued.
"There's more."
I closed my eyes.
"Naturally."
"Your father has already told the developer he controls the property."
I stared.
"What?"
"He apparently represented himself as authorized to negotiate."
"With the forged document."
"That would be my concern."
Priya joined the call.
"We need to stop informal negotiations immediately and address the attempted fraudulent transfer."
Melissa said, "I can continue marketing the property, but we must disclose the occupancy situation and resolve any title issue before closing."
"Do it properly," I answered.
Priya continued.
"And Ian, don't contact Lionel personally."
"Why?"
"Because right now, our advantage is documentation."
I understood.
My father had spent his entire life making things emotional.
If he shouted loudly enough, everybody stopped looking at the numbers.
I wasn't going to do that anymore.
That afternoon, Tessa arrived at my restaurant.
She wore sunglasses, a burgundy dress, and a pair of shoes that probably cost more than my dishwasher's weekly paycheck.
She walked straight into my office.
"You've gone too far."
I didn't look up.
"Hello, Tessa."
"Mom's having panic attacks."
"She should see a doctor."
"Dad can't sleep."
"Neither can Clare."
She slammed her purse on my desk.
"You're seriously selling our childhood home?"
"My property."
"Don't start."
I closed my laptop.
"How much do you owe?"
She froze.
"What?"
"Two hundred and ten thousand?"
Her face changed.
"Dad told you?"
"He mentioned it."
She looked away.
"I had investors."
"Who?"
"People."
"What people?"
"Why do you care?"
"Because someone tried to forge my signature on a property transfer."
Tessa laughed nervously.
"That's ridiculous."
I studied her.
"Did you do it?"
"No."
"Did you give Dad copies of my signature?"
She stared at the floor.
"Tessa."
"I didn't know what he was doing."
That was the first honest sentence she had spoken to me in years.
I waited.
She sat down.
"Dad said he needed authorization forms."
"And you helped?"
"He said the house was really theirs."
I laughed softly.
"It was theirs until they sold it to me."
"You're so obsessed with paperwork."
"Paperwork is why the bank didn't take the house."
She looked angry again.
"You act like money makes you better than us."
"No."
I leaned forward.
"I act like money doesn't give you permission to throw things at my wife."
Her eyes flickered.
For one second, I thought she might apologize.
Instead, she said:
"Clare knew that was my chair."
I stood.
"Get out."
Tessa grabbed her purse.
"You'll regret this."
"Probably."
She headed for the door.
Then stopped.
"Dad said you won't get to sell it anyway."
I looked up.
"What?"
She turned.
"He says the original owner has a claim."
I frowned.
"What original owner?"
Tessa smiled.
"Grandpa."
Then she left.
My grandfather had died twelve years earlier.
May you like
The house had originally belonged to him.
And apparently, my father had found another way to use a dead man's name against me.
