Chương 10
Grant answered too quickly.
“Nothing.”
Michael stared at him.
Then he looked around again.
“Grant.”
Grant lowered his voice.
“A misunderstanding escalated.”
Edward laughed from beside the cruiser.
Michael closed his eyes.
“Of course it did.”
He walked toward Ruiz and introduced himself.
While they spoke, I returned to Sophie.
She had finally opened the water.
“Was there anything?”
she asked.
“Yes.”
“Bad?”
“I don’t know yet.”
She gave me a look.
“Trying again?”
“Yes.”
She nodded.
“Good.”
Natalie approached us slowly.
Sophie noticed and went rigid.
Natalie stopped several feet away.
“Can I talk to you?”
Sophie looked at me.
I let her decide.
She stared at her aunt for several seconds.
“About what?”
Natalie’s lips trembled.
“I owe you an apology.”
Sophie said nothing.
Natalie clasped her hands together.
“When Travis grabbed you, I should have stopped him.”
Her voice broke on the last word.
“I didn’t.”
Sophie looked at the water bottle.
“Why?”
Natalie swallowed.
“Because I was scared he’d get angrier.”
“At me?”
“At everyone.”
“That’s not a reason.”
“No.”
Natalie nodded.
“It’s not.”
Sophie looked up.
“You told Mom I was fine because you wanted him to be fine.”
Natalie closed her eyes.
“Yes.”
The honesty seemed to surprise both of them.
Sophie twisted the bottle cap.
“I don’t forgive you.”
Natalie’s face tightened.
“I understand.”
“No, I mean maybe later.”
She looked embarrassed.
“I just don’t right now.”
Natalie wiped beneath one eye.
“That’s fair.”
Sophie nodded once.
No hug.
No dramatic reconciliation.
Natalie stepped away.
I watched her go and felt something inside me shift.
Not trust.
Not yet.
But perhaps the first empty space where trust might someday grow back.
Sergeant Ruiz approached with Michael beside her.
Grant’s attorney looked grim.
“We have another problem,” Ruiz said.
I looked toward the shed.
“What now?”
She held up Edward’s phone in its evidence bag.
“He voluntarily provided the unlock code.”
Michael muttered something under his breath.
Ruiz continued.
“There is a message thread between Mr. Pike and a contact saved as G.C.”
Grant shouted from across the yard.
“I told you not to discuss that without counsel.”
Michael turned.
“Grant, please stop helping.”
Even Mr. Palmer laughed at that.
Ruiz looked back at me.
“The messages appear to discuss removing documents from your shed.”
“Appear?”
“We still have to authenticate the number and preserve everything properly.”
I nodded.
“What else?”
Her expression changed.
“That thread started six weeks ago.”
My skin went cold.
Six weeks ago was before the property-line argument.
Before the missing survey stake.
Before Natalie began pushing me to attend more family gatherings.
Ruiz held my gaze.
“The first message says they needed access to your original paperwork before you noticed the transfer had already been recorded.”
Six weeks meant intent.
Six weeks meant Grant had not improvised after seeing Sophie’s phone.
He had been preparing for me long before the barbecue, and the realization settled differently from fear.
It felt administrative.
Cold.
Organized.
I looked at Natalie.
She had heard Ruiz too.
Her face drained.
“Six weeks?”
Grant’s attorney closed his briefcase without opening it.
“Grant, do not answer that.”
Grant ignored him.
“This is being interpreted completely out of context.”
Michael turned toward him.
“I am asking you, professionally and personally, to stop speaking.”
Grant’s jaw worked.
Ruiz looked at me.
“We need to establish whether any transfer was actually recorded.”
“My father’s letter says county archive.”
“That may be where the original easement is, but if someone filed a newer instrument, it should also leave a record.”
I pulled out my phone.
“I can check the county portal.”
Michael stepped closer.
“I would advise against everybody conducting their own investigation in the middle of an active scene.”
“I’m checking my own property record.”
“That is your right.”
He looked tired.
“I’m advising caution, not forbidding anything.”
Grant snapped, “Michael.”
His attorney did not turn.
“What?”
“You represent me.”
“I am trying.”
That silenced Grant more effectively than anything else had.
The county website loaded slowly.
My hands were steady until I entered the parcel number.
Then I mistyped the final digit twice.
Sophie stood close enough to notice.
“You okay?”
“Yes.”
She gave me the look children reserve for adults making transparent mistakes.
“I’m functional.”
“That sounds more true.”
The parcel record appeared.
Owner: Claire Mercer.
No surprise there.
I scrolled.
The most recent instrument had been recorded twenty-three days earlier.
Boundary Line Adjustment Agreement.
I opened the scanned image.
My name was there.
My address was there.
My signature was there.
A notary stamp sat beneath it.
I had never seen the document.
I enlarged the signature.
Whoever had copied mine had done a decent job.
Too decent for a casual forgery.
It had the slight upward hook I used on the C when signing official paperwork quickly.
Something in my stomach tightened.
“Claire?”
Ruiz had noticed my expression.
“This was filed three weeks ago.”
I handed her the phone.
She did not take it immediately.
“Can you navigate to the public record without giving me access to anything private?”
“Yes.”
I did.
She photographed the screen with her department phone, then wrote down the instrument number.
Michael stood a few feet away.
He glanced toward Grant.
Grant was looking at the ground.
Natalie saw that too.
“You knew.”
Grant lifted his head.
“I knew there was a filing.”
“With her fake signature?”
“I did not say that.”
“You didn’t have to.”
“Natalie.”
“No.”
Her voice shook.
“No, don’t do that voice with me.”
“What voice?”
“The one that means I’m supposed to stop because you’re embarrassed.”
Grant’s face hardened.
“This is not about embarrassment.”
“Then what is it about?”
He looked at the police.
At the neighbors.
At Michael.
Then at me.
His mouth closed.
Natalie laughed without humor.
“Right.”
Ruiz asked me to email myself a copy of the public filing and preserve the URL.
I did both.
Then she asked whether the signature was mine.
May you like
“No.”
“Could you have signed something similar and forgotten?”
