Chapter 12 - The Truth in His Messages
The office phone belonged to Brooke's staging company. Evan said she used it to call the title company because her personal number was tied to a supplier dispute. He claimed he didn't know what she said.
Detective Kim didn't accuse him of lying. She asked him to explain the message. Evan stared at the table, then told us that Brooke had asked him to bring a folder to a mobile document service near her office. She said a notary would witness his signature and send the papers to the lender. Evan signed where she pointed. He did not see a notary sign my name, but he noticed a page had already been completed before he arrived.
"Why didn't you stop?" I asked.
"Because she told me you had signed at the bank. She said the page was just a copy for the lender. I wanted to believe her."
"And when she told me to leave?"
He rubbed his eyes. "By then I knew something was wrong. I was scared she'd tell the lender I'd helped her. I thought if I went along with it, we could fix it before you found out."
"You thought the best way to fix it was to make me homeless."
He had no defense left.
Detective Kim asked him to write a full statement and warned him that honesty did not guarantee immunity. He signed anyway. Daniel told him to get his own attorney before making any further statements, and Evan agreed. It was the first sensible choice he'd made since the trouble began.
Two days later, records showed the deed had been uploaded from Brooke's office computer. The draft was created on her account, then moved to Evan's login. My signature had been pasted into it, and the loan application falsely claimed I had authorized the transfer.
There was also a short audio file recovered from a cloud backup. The recording was incomplete, only a few seconds long, but Brooke's voice was clear.
"If she won't sign, we'll do it the other way."
A man's voice answered, "She'll know."
The recording ended before we could identify the speaker with certainty. Detective Kim sent it for review and asked the service provider to preserve the original file.
That night, I received a text from Evan: I am sorry. I know that doesn't repair anything. I will tell them what I did.
I did not answer. Not because I wanted him to suffer, but because the next word between us had to be earned, not sent in a panic.
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At 11:43 p.m., the doorbell camera sent another alert.
Someone was standing beside my side door, holding a key.
