PART 10 — PHASE TWO
“He said phase two only happened if you became a problem.”
Nobody moved.
I stared at Andrew across David’s conference table.
“A problem?”
Andrew lowered his eyes.
“That was the word he used.”
“And you never thought that was worth mentioning to me?”
“At the time, I didn’t understand what he meant.”
“You didn’t ask?”
“I did.”
“And?”
“He laughed.”
My skin prickled.
“What did he say?”
Andrew rubbed his palms against his trousers.
“He said successful people always become problems when they realize how much they have to lose.”
David leaned forward.
“Exact words?”
“As close as I remember.”
“And you continued speaking to this man?”
“No. Not really.”
“Not really isn’t an answer.”
Andrew sighed.
“I saw him twice after that.”
I stared at him.
“Where?”
“Once at Mom’s apartment. Once at the lake house.”
“Why was he at the lake house?”
“I don’t know.”
“Andrew.”
“I DON’T KNOW.”
His voice rose.
David immediately cut in.
“Then tell us what you do know.”
Andrew leaned back.
“Victor started appearing around Mom about two years ago. She said he’d helped one of her friends protect assets during a divorce.”
“Whose divorce?” David asked.
“I never asked.”
“Company?”
“I don’t know.”
“Office?”
“No idea.”
“License?”
Andrew shook his head.
David’s expression said exactly what I was thinking.
My husband had helped his mother discuss my assets with a man whose last name he hadn’t even remembered five minutes earlier.
“How much information did you give him about Carla’s company?” David asked.
“Not much.”
I laughed bitterly.
Andrew looked at me.
“What?”
“That’s what you’ve said about everything.”
He frowned.
I counted on my fingers.
“You didn’t tell Theresa much about our finances. You didn’t know much about the lake house paperwork. You didn’t understand much about the trust. You didn’t know much about my forged signatures. You didn’t give Victor much information.”
I leaned forward.
“But somehow, Andrew, every tiny thing you supposedly didn’t understand benefited you.”
His face tightened.
“I’ve admitted I made mistakes.”
“No. You keep admitting the part I already discovered.”
Silence.
David looked at Andrew.
“She’s right about one thing that matters legally: we need complete disclosure now. If there is something else, this is the time.”
Andrew stared at the table.
My phone was still connected to Rachel.
“I’m leaving the lake house,” she said quietly.
David responded immediately.
“Good. Don’t remove anything. Don’t confront anyone.”
“There’s one problem.”
“What?”
“My car.”
My stomach tightened.
“What about it?”
“The rear tire is flat.”
“Did you drive there with a flat tire?”
“No.”
“Can you see damage?”
Rachel became silent.
Then:
“Yes.”
“What kind?”
“A cut.”
David stood.
“Get inside your vehicle and lock the doors.”
I stood too.
“Rachel, call the police.”
“I will.”
“Now.”
She disconnected.
I looked at David.
“I’m going there.”
“No.”
“She’s alone.”
“She is calling law enforcement. You arriving adds another person to an uncertain situation.”
“My mother can stay here.”
Mom folded her arms.
“Nobody asked me.”
“Mom.”
“I’m not staying behind while—”
David raised a hand.
“Everyone stays away from that property until we know what happened.”
For once, Mom didn’t argue.
My phone buzzed.
Rachel had sent the photograph she found.
It showed me leaving my office.
Coffee in one hand.
Phone in the other.
Completely unaware someone was taking my picture.
I turned it over mentally.
SHE STILL DOESN’T KNOW. PROCEED WITH PHASE TWO.
Three months ago.
I felt violated in a way the missing money hadn’t achieved.
Someone had watched me.
Not Theresa insulting me at dinner.
Not Andrew lying about who paid for vacations.
A stranger had stood somewhere outside my workplace and photographed me.
“David.”
“Yes?”
“Can we find Victor?”
“We’re going to try.”
Andrew suddenly said:
“I might have his number.”
Every head turned.
I stared at him.
“You might?”
“Mom sent me his contact once.”
“When?”
“A while ago.”
He took out his phone and searched.
After a minute, he found it.
Victor M.
David wrote down the number.
“Don’t call him.”
Andrew nodded.
“Anything else?”
“Maybe an email.”
“Find it.”
While Andrew searched, I looked at my mother.
Her face was pale.
For the first time since this began, she looked frightened.
I reached for her hand.
“I’m okay.”
She squeezed mine.
“I know.”
But her voice told me she wasn’t convinced.
Andrew suddenly stopped scrolling.
“I found something.”
“What?”
“An email from Victor.”
“Read it.”
He hesitated.
“Andrew.”
“It was sent eleven months ago.”
“Read it.”
He did.
“Andrew, your mother has expressed concerns regarding Carla’s long-term intentions. If the marriage deteriorates, timing will be critical. Do not initiate any separation proceedings without speaking to us first.”
I stared at him.
“Us?”
“That’s what it says.”
David held out his hand.
“Forward it.”
Andrew did.
“What did you reply?” I asked.
His eyes lowered.
“Nothing.”
“Show me.”
He turned the phone toward me.
No reply.
For once, he appeared to be telling the truth.
David asked:
“Any attachments?”
Andrew checked.
“One.”
He opened it.
His face changed.
“What?”
He handed the phone to David.
David read silently.
Then his jaw tightened.
“What is it?” I asked.
“A checklist.”
“For what?”
He turned the screen toward me.
The title was vague:
CONTINGENCY PREPARATION
Below it were categories.
Property ownership.
Insurance.
Business interests.
Account access.
Digital credentials.
Medical authorization.
Travel schedules.
Emergency contacts.
I felt sick.
“This is about me.”
“It appears to concern your household and business,” David said carefully.
Andrew stood.
“I never filled that out.”
“Did Theresa have this?”
“I don’t know.”
“Did you forward it?”
“No.”
David checked the email history.
“No forwarding information here.”
I looked at one category again.
Travel schedules.
The family trip.
Miami.
Getting me out of the house.
My mother whispered:
“This wasn’t Theresa improvising.”
“No.”
I looked at Andrew.
“Someone taught her what to collect.”
David nodded.
“And potentially how to use it.”
My phone rang.
Rachel.
I answered immediately.
“Are you safe?”
“Yes. Police are here.”
I exhaled.
“Good.”
“They’re looking around the property.”
“Did you tell them about the tire?”
“Yes.”
Her voice shook.
“Carla, they found something else.”
“What?”
“The back door was open when they checked.”
“Was it open when you arrived?”
“No.”
Every person in the room became still.
“How do you know?”
“I tried it when I got here. It was locked.”
David leaned toward the phone.
“Rachel, stay with the officers.”
“I am.”
“Do not re-enter the house alone.”
“I won’t.”
Then she whispered:
“They said someone may have been inside while I was there.”
My mother covered her mouth.
“Did you see anyone?”
“No.”
“Hear anything?”
Rachel paused.
“I thought I heard something upstairs.”
“When?”
“Before I called you.”
“Why didn’t you say anything?”
“I thought it was the house settling.”
David closed his eyes briefly.
“Stay outside.”
Then a man’s voice spoke faintly in the background.
Rachel responded.
A moment later, she came back.
“They found footprints near the back.”
“What kind?”
“They don’t know.”
Then:
“And the safe wasn’t forced.”
Andrew looked up.
“What?”
I repeated it.
“The safe wasn’t forced.”
His expression changed.
“Then whoever opened it knew the combination.”
I looked at him.
“Who knows it?”
“Me. Mom.”
“Anyone else?”
“I don’t think so.”
Rachel heard him.
“I knew it.”
We all turned toward the phone.
“You knew the combination?”
“Yes. Theresa gave it to me years ago when I helped with documents.”
Three people.
Andrew.
Theresa.
Rachel.
Possibly anyone one of them had told.
The list wasn’t useful yet.
David returned to his chair.
“We preserve facts. We don’t make accusations.”
My phone vibrated.
Elena.
A text.
I sent David everything I had.
Then another.
But there is one file I didn’t email.
I replied:
Why?
Her answer:
Because it isn’t a document.
A few seconds later:
It’s a recording.
My heartbeat accelerated.
Of whom?
Theresa and Victor.
I immediately called.
Elena answered.
“Send it.”
“I’m scared.”
“You’ve already sent thirty-eight files.”
“This is different.”
“How?”
“Because Victor says what phase two is.”
The room disappeared around me.
“What does he say?”
“I want your lawyer to hear it first.”
“David is sitting beside me.”
There was silence.
Then Elena said:
“Put me on speaker.”
I did.
“This is David Monroe, Carla’s attorney.”
“Mr. Monroe?”
“Yes.”
“I recorded a conversation at the lake house about three months ago.”
“Were you part of the conversation?”
“No.”
David’s expression sharpened.
“Before you send or distribute it further, I need to understand the circumstances and applicable law. Preserve the original exactly as it is.”
“Okay.”
“Do not edit it.”
“I haven’t.”
“Tell us what you remember hearing.”
Elena breathed shakily.
“Aunt Theresa was arguing with Victor.”
“About?”
“Carla.”
I closed my eyes.
“What did Theresa say?”
“She said the paperwork was taking too long.”
“And Victor?”
“He told her not to rush.”
“Anything else?”
“Yes.”
Elena paused.
“He said phase one was financial.”
My fingers tightened around the table.
“And phase two?”
“He called it leverage.”
I opened my eyes.
“What kind of leverage?”
“I didn’t understand at first.”
“Then what happened?”
“Theresa asked what would happen if you refused to cooperate after discovering the documents.”
I could barely breathe.
“What did Victor say?”
Elena’s voice dropped.
“He said everyone has a pressure point.”
My mother squeezed my hand.
“What pressure point?”
“He started asking about your business.”
“That isn’t surprising anymore.”
“No.”
Elena swallowed.
“Then he asked about your mother.”
I turned toward Mom.
Her face changed.
“What about my mother?”
“He asked whether she depended on you financially.”
Mom shook her head immediately.
“She doesn’t,” I said.
“I know that now.”
“What else?”
“Your clients. Employees. Reputation.”
My anger replaced the fear.
“They planned to threaten my reputation?”
“I think so.”
“Anything else?”
“There was one part I couldn’t hear clearly.”
“What part?”
“Theresa said she didn’t want anyone physically hurt.”
The entire conference room went silent.
My mother’s fingers tightened painfully around mine.
Andrew stood.
“What?”
Elena continued quickly.
“And Victor told her nobody was talking about hurting anyone.”
I exhaled.
That distinction mattered.
“Then what was he talking about?”
“He said fear was cheaper than force.”
David immediately said:
“Elena, preserve that recording. Do not send it around casually. We’ll discuss the proper way to provide it.”
“Okay.”
Then I asked:
“Was Andrew there?”
“No.”
He closed his eyes.
“Did they mention him?”
“Yes.”
Andrew looked up.
“What did they say?”
Elena hesitated.
“Victor said Andrew was becoming unreliable.”
My husband stared at the phone.
“Unreliable how?”
“He said you were too emotionally attached to Carla to finish what you’d started.”
Andrew went pale.
I stared at him.
“Finish what?”
“I don’t know.”
“Andrew.”
“I swear.”
Elena interrupted.
“There’s more.”
“What?”
“Aunt Theresa said, ‘Then don’t tell him about phase two.’”
I looked at Andrew.
His confusion appeared genuine.
For the first time, it seemed possible that whatever Theresa had started with her son had grown into something even Andrew wasn’t supposed to know.
David asked:
“Elena, when was this recorded?”
She gave the date.
Three months ago.
Two days before the photograph outside my office.
Two days before the preliminary ownership notice.
My stomach tightened.
Phase two had begun almost immediately afterward.
“What happened next?” I asked.
“Victor said he needed thirty days of documented instability.”
I froze.
Thirty days.
Again.
“What instability?”
“He didn’t explain.”
“Did Theresa?”
“No.”
I looked at David.
“What could that mean?”
“I won’t speculate.”
But his expression told me he hated the phrase as much as I did.
Then my mother suddenly spoke.
“Carla.”
I looked at her.
She was staring at her phone.
“What?”
“Do you remember when I told you someone called me from your office last month?”
My heart stopped.
“What call?”
“You were busy. I didn’t think it mattered.”
“What did they say?”
“They said you had listed me as an emergency contact and needed to verify some information.”
“Who?”
“A woman.”
“What information?”
Mom looked increasingly worried.
“They asked whether you’d been under unusual stress.”
I stood.
“What did you tell them?”
“I said you worked too much sometimes.”
“What else?”
“They asked whether you’d seemed forgetful.”
My mouth went dry.
“What did you say?”
“I laughed and said everyone forgets things.”
Andrew stared at her.
David immediately grabbed a pen.
“When exactly was this?”
Mom searched her call history.
“Twenty-seven days ago.”
Thirty days of documented instability.
A call to my mother asking whether I was stressed or forgetful.
The photograph.
Travel schedules.
Medical authorization.
Emergency contacts.
I felt sick.
Someone wasn’t merely trying to create financial paperwork.
They were building a story about me.
A version of Carla Carter who was unstable.
Unavailable.
Unable to manage her own affairs.
My phone buzzed.
An email.
From an address I didn’t recognize.
Subject:
YOU SHOULD SEE WHAT THEY FILED ABOUT YOU.
There was an attachment.
David stopped me before I opened it.
“Forward it to me.”
I did.
He opened it safely on his system.
His expression changed as he read.
“What?”
He didn’t answer immediately.
“David.”
He turned the monitor toward me.
It was a letter.
My name appeared repeatedly.
The document claimed concerns had been raised about my recent behavior, decision-making, memory, and capacity to manage complex financial matters.
I read the signature at the bottom.
Not Theresa.
Not Andrew.
Not Elena.
Victor Mercer
Under his name:
Authorized Representative, Carter Family Property Trust.
My hands began shaking.
“Who did he send this to?”
David scrolled.
Then stopped.
My company’s bank.
One of our lenders.
And two names I recognized immediately.
Two of my largest clients.
I felt rage rise through me.
“This is phase two.”
David nodded slowly.
“Looks like part of it.”
They weren’t trying to physically hurt me.
They were trying to make people stop trusting me.
To create enough doubt around my judgment that the forged authority documents would look believable.
My phone rang.
My operations director.
I answered.
“Carla?”
“Yes?”
“Are you okay?”
My stomach dropped.
“Why?”
“We just received something strange.”
“What?”
“A man named Victor Mercer is downstairs.”
I stood so quickly my chair hit the wall.
“What does he want?”
“He says he’s representing your family trust.”
“I do not have a family trust.”
Silence.
Then my director whispered:
“He has documents.”
“Do not let him into my office.”
“Okay.”
“Do not give him access to anything.”
“Okay.”
“Call building security.”
“I will.”
“And call the police if he refuses to leave.”
I could hear voices in the background.
Then my director said:
“Carla…”
“What?”
“He’s asking for you.”
“Tell him I’m unavailable.”
There was another pause.
Then:
“He says he knows.”
My blood ran cold.
“Knows what?”
My director’s voice became quieter.
“He says you’re with your attorney.”
Everyone in the conference room froze.
I looked toward the windows.
Eleven floors above the street.
Cars moving below.
People walking.
Normal life continuing.
Somewhere, Victor Mercer knew exactly where I was.
Then my director whispered:
“He left something for you.”
“What?”
“An envelope.”
“Don’t open it.”
“I won’t.”
“What does it say?”
“Just your name.”
I swallowed.
“Anything else?”
“Yes.”
“What?”
“Underneath your name, someone wrote four words.”
My hand tightened around the phone.
“Read them.”
She did.
PHASE THREE STARTS TODAY.
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