Chapter 3 - THE CONDO IN PHOENIX
Chloe answered my call on the fourth try.
“What?”
No greeting.
No apology.
Just irritation.
“Do you own Desert Canyon Holdings?”
Silence.
Then:
“Who told you?”
That was enough.
“How long?”
“Maya—”
“How long have you owned it?”
“Two years.”
“What does it own?”
Nothing.
“What does it own, Chloe?”
She sighed like I was inconveniencing her.
“A condo.”
“In Phoenix?”
“Yes.”
I actually had to sit down.
My little sister had spent the night crying over a $2,500 BMW transmission while apparently owning real estate in Arizona.
“How much did it cost?”
“I don’t know exactly.”
“You own it.”
“Dad handled the purchase.”
“With my money.”
Another silence.
“I didn’t know that.”
“Try again.”
“I knew Grandma had family money.”
“It wasn’t family money.”
“That’s what Dad called it.”
“And you never asked why the company was in your name?”
“It was for taxes.”
I laughed.
“You’re twenty-two, Chloe. What taxes?”
She became defensive.
“I’m not an accountant.”
“Neither am I, and I know people don’t randomly receive condos through LLCs.”
“It’s an investment.”
“Do you live there?”
“No.”
“Who does?”
Silence.
That changed the temperature of the conversation.
“Chloe.”
“A woman.”
“What woman?”
“I don’t know.”
“You own a condo with a stranger living inside it?”
“Dad said not to ask.”
My heartbeat slowed.
Dad said not to ask.
That phrase was becoming more important than the money.
“Name.”
“I think it’s Vanessa.”
“Last name?”
“I don’t know.”
“Is she renting?”
“No.”
“Then why is she there?”
Chloe lowered her voice.
“Dad pays everything.”
My stomach tightened.
I pulled up county property records.
Desert Canyon Holdings had purchased a two-bedroom condo for $312,000.
The $148,000 from my trust had been the down payment.
There was a mortgage for the rest.
Payment source listed:
CARTER FAMILY SERVICES LLC.
Another company I’d never heard of.
“What is Carter Family Services?”
Chloe went quiet.
“I don’t know.”
“You’re lying.”
“I’ve seen the name.”
“Where?”
“Dad’s phone.”
“What does that mean?”
“He sends money through it.”
“To who?”
“Vanessa.”
There it was.
Not an investment.
A woman.
A hidden woman.
“Does Mom know?”
“I don’t think so.”
Suddenly Mom’s strange line made sense.
Ask your father about Phoenix.
She knew something.
Maybe not everything.
“Have you met Vanessa?”
“Once.”
“When?”
“Last Christmas.”
I froze.
“Last Christmas you told us you went to Scottsdale with friends.”
“I did.”
“You met her there?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Dad asked me to bring documents.”
“What documents?”
“I don’t know.”
“Chloe.”
“I swear.”
Then she added:
“There was a kid.”
My chest tightened.
“What kid?”
“A boy.”
“How old?”
“Maybe sixteen.”
“Who is he?”
“I don’t know.”
But I already suspected.
Because secrets rarely become less obvious once you stop protecting the people keeping them.
“Did he look like Dad?”
Chloe stopped breathing.
That was my answer.
“How much?”
“What?”
“How much did Dad pay you to keep quiet?”
“Maya—”
“How much?”
“Ten thousand.”
I closed my eyes.
Of course.
Money.
Always money.
Dad had taken from my trust.
Put property in Chloe’s name.
Used her as a shell owner.
Paid her to ignore the obvious.
And she still wanted me to pay for her BMW.
“What’s the boy’s name?”
“Ethan.”
I wrote it down.
Then Chloe whispered:
“Please don’t tell Mom.”
I almost laughed.
“You’re asking me to protect Dad?”
“No. I’m asking you to protect Mom.”
“That’s the excuse everyone uses for lying.”
“She’ll fall apart.”
“Maybe she deserves the truth.”
“You don’t understand.”
“What?”
Chloe began crying.
For once, it didn’t sound theatrical.
“Mom already knows Dad cheated.”
I froze.
“What?”
“She found messages last year.”
“With Vanessa?”
“No.”
My stomach dropped again.
“How many women are we talking about?”
“I don’t know.”
“Then what does Mom know?”
“She knows there was someone in Phoenix years ago.”
“Does she know about Ethan?”
“I don’t think so.”
I ended the call and immediately texted Olivia.
Can you trace Carter Family Services LLC?
Twenty minutes later, she sent the registration.
Manager:
Richard Carter.
Secondary member:
Patricia Wells.
Mom’s cousin.
The same woman connected to my trust.
The company had existed since 2020.
The year Dad’s questionable power of attorney appeared.
This wasn’t an affair funded casually with stolen money.
It had infrastructure.
Companies.
Property.
A banking insider.
Then Olivia found another payment.
$60,000 from my trust to Carter Family Services.
Memo:
EDUCATIONAL SUPPORT.
I called Dad again.
He finally answered.
“Maya.”
“Who is Ethan?”
Nothing.
Not even breathing.
“Dad?”
“Stay out of this.”
I felt cold.
“You funded him with my money.”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Then explain.”
“He is not your concern.”
“You made him my concern when you took sixty thousand dollars from my account.”
His voice rose.
“Your grandmother’s money created obligations.”
“What obligations?”
“Things she did.”
I stopped.
“Grandma?”
“Yes.”
“What does Grandma have to do with Ethan?”
Dad exhaled.
Then said:
“Vanessa is not my mistress.”
I waited.
“She’s your aunt.”
Silence.
I actually checked the phone screen as if the wrong person had answered.
“My aunt?”
“Your grandmother’s daughter.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
“Grandma had two daughters?”
“She had three children.”
Mom.
Uncle Steven.
And Vanessa.
I had never heard of Vanessa.
“Why didn’t anyone tell me?”
“Because Evelyn didn’t want anyone to know.”
I felt sick.
“What happened?”
Dad whispered:
“She gave Vanessa away.”
The room went quiet.
Then he added:
“And before your grandmother died, she made me promise I would find her.”
May you like
I looked at the trust statements.
“And you decided to fulfill that promise with my money?”
