Chương 3
"I have emails," she said.
"From the seller?"
"From the agent."
"Which agent?"
She hesitated.
That hesitation did not escape anyone.
Thomas slowly sat down on the porch chair.
His expression had changed.
The anger was gone.
Confusion had replaced it.
"Clara."
She did not answer.
"Which agent?"
She looked at him.
"Michael."
"Michael what?"
She looked toward the ocean.
The waves kept moving.
That was the part she could not accept.
The world had continued while hers had stopped.
"Michael Foster."
Deputy Reeves wrote the name down.
"Did you meet him in person?"
Clara crossed her arms.
"No."
"Did you speak with him by phone?"
"Yes."
"Video call?"
"No."
The deputy nodded slightly.
"How did you find the property?"
"Online."
"Through a real estate website?"
"Yes."
"Did you visit before signing?"
"No."
That answer changed the silence.
Mark looked at her.
"You never saw it?"
Clara's face tightened.
"I saw pictures."
"Clara."
"I was busy."
"Busy?"
The word came out softer than he intended.
She looked at him.
"I had work."
Mark looked around the house.
The beautiful house.
The impossible house.
"You bought a beach house you never walked into?"
She looked offended.
"People do that."
"Some people do."
The distinction stayed between them.
Clara walked a few steps away from the group.
She hated that everyone was looking at her like she was fragile.
She hated that she could feel pity forming around her.
Pity was worse than anger.
Anger meant people still believed she had power.
She reached into her pocket and pulled out her phone.
Her fingers moved quickly across the screen.
"I have the messages."
Nobody spoke.
She opened the conversation with Michael Foster.
The last message was from three days earlier.
Everything looks perfect.
Enjoy your first weekend there.
Clara stared at it.
The words that had made her smile before now felt strange.
Mark leaned closer.
"Who sent that?"
"Michael."
"Can I see?"
She almost refused.
It was instinct.
Then she handed him the phone.
Mark read through the messages.
His expression changed slowly.
"What?"
Clara watched him.
"What is it?"
He looked up.
"There are no property details."
"What do you mean?"
"No address."
"No contract attachments."
"No closing information."
"I have those."
"Where?"
She looked back at the phone.
"I don't know."
That was the first honest answer she had given all afternoon.
The honesty frightened her.
Deputy Reeves remained quiet while they searched.
Rachel stood near the driveway, waiting.
Thomas walked into the doorway but stopped before crossing the threshold.
He looked uncomfortable.
"I need to ask you something."
Clara looked up.
"What?"
"Did you actually close on this house?"
She stared at him.
"What kind of question is that?"
"A simple one."
"I paid."
"That's not what I asked."
The anger returned immediately.
"You think I'm lying?"
"No."
His voice broke slightly.
"I think you might have been lied to."
The sentence stayed with her.
Because it was the first thing anyone had said that did not feel like an attack.
Clara looked down at her phone again.
She searched for the documents.
The confirmation emails.
The wire transfer information.
Her breathing became slower.
Not calmer.
Slower.
Like her body was preparing for something it did not want to see.
"I sent money," she whispered.
Mark looked at her.
"How much?"
She did not answer.
"Clara."
"How much?" he repeated.
She swallowed.
"Almost all of my savings."
Nobody reacted dramatically.
Nobody gasped.
That made it worse.
Because everyone understood the weight of it.
The house was not just a vacation.
It was years of work.
Years of saying no to things.
Years of telling herself she was finally building something permanent.
Deputy Reeves closed the folder.
His voice softened slightly.
"Clara, I need you to come with me to my vehicle and make a statement."
She looked at him.
"Am I in trouble?"
"No."
The answer came quickly.
"But someone may have committed a crime."
The ocean continued behind them.
The house remained open.
The guests stood quietly among the bags and coolers they had carried inside only hours earlier.
And for the first time since arriving, Clara looked at the beach house and did not see the beginning of a new life.
She saw the possibility that someone had built an entire lie around the one thing she had trusted most.
The possibility sat inside Clara's chest like a weight she could not move.
Someone had built an entire lie around the one thing she had trusted most.
She followed Deputy Reeves toward the sheriff vehicle without speaking.
Her steps felt unfamiliar, like her body was moving through a place she no longer recognized.
The porch that had felt welcoming an hour earlier now felt like a stage where everyone had watched her lose control.
Mark followed behind her.
"Clara."
She kept walking.
"Clara, wait."
She stopped near the driveway but did not turn around.
"What?"
The word came out flat.
Mark opened his mouth, then closed it.
He had spent the last few minutes searching for something helpful to say, but every sentence sounded either too small or too late.
"I should have asked more questions," he said.
She looked at him.
That was not what she expected.
"You should have."
He nodded.
"I should have."
The honesty made her angrier.
She wanted him to defend himself.
She wanted him to say he had trusted her.
She wanted something simple.
Instead, he was standing there admitting he had failed.
"I thought you knew what you were doing," he said.
"I did."
The answer came quickly.
Then quieter.
"Or I thought I did."
Mark looked away.
That was the hardest part for him.
Not the money.
Not the house.
Not even the embarrassment.
It was seeing Clara, the person who always seemed impossible to shake, standing there unsure of herself.
Deputy Reeves opened the passenger door of the vehicle.
"Take your time," he said.
Clara almost laughed.
May you like
Take your time.
It was the kind of sentence people used when they believed time could fix something.
