Chapter 11 - THE MONEY UNDER THE HOUSE
For twelve hours, I wondered whether Diane had finally found something she could use against me.
Then Ben traced the wire.
The answer was almost unbelievable.
Yes, the down payment on our house had passed through Diane’s account.
But the money had not started there.
Five days earlier, Eric transferred the exact amount into Diane’s account.
And three days before that, the money had come from me.
I remembered the transaction.
At the time, Eric told me we were moving funds temporarily for closing logistics because his bank could process the certified wire faster.
I trusted him.
So my money went:
Claire → Eric → Diane → Closing.
On paper, Diane could point to the final transfer and pretend she funded the house.
The underlying records told the real story.
Naomi actually smiled.
“I love bank statements.”
So did I.
Then we found why the routing mattered.
Diane had later used the closing wire as “proof” that she had an equitable financial interest in the property.
She had shown it to a lender while trying to secure a personal loan.
She never received that loan.
But she had been claiming ownership behind my back for years.
Eric insisted he didn’t know.
I no longer cared whether every lie originated with him.
He had created the environment where his mother could operate without consequences.
That was enough.
Then another document surfaced.
A draft family agreement from three years earlier.
It proposed transferring a percentage of the house into a family trust controlled by Diane.
My signature line was blank.
Eric’s was signed.
I confronted him during a meeting with attorneys present.
“Were you planning to give your mother part of our house?”
“No.”
“You signed this.”
“She said it was estate planning.”
“You keep saying that.”
“What?”
“She said. Mom said. Diane said.”
Eric looked down.
“When were you going to start thinking for yourself?”
He had no answer.
Then Naomi asked him about the destroyed laptop.
Eric finally gave us the piece he had been hiding.
“The dog mess wasn’t random.”
I stared at him.
“What?”
“Mom told Mark to let the dog onto the patio after midnight.”
“Why?”
“To get you away from the computer.”
A chill ran through me.
Eric continued.
“They thought you would go outside. Mark was supposed to copy something while you cleaned.”
“But I refused.”
“Yes.”
“So he grabbed the laptop.”
“Yes.”
“And broke it.”
Eric nodded.
The entire argument had been manufactured.
The command.
The confrontation.
The outrage about family.
All of it was meant to move me away from my computer for two minutes.
Then Eric added:
“There’s one thing you still don’t know.”
I waited.
“The model wasn’t the only thing they wanted.”
“What else?”
He looked at Naomi.
May you like
Then at me.
“Your client list.”
