Chapter 5 - THE DEVELOPMENT THAT NEVER EXISTEDThe next morning, Daniel drove us to Lakeview.
Not Greg.
Not Dana.
Me.
Daniel.
Helen.
And Marcus.
It took forty-five minutes.
The entire drive, I watched Pennsylvania fields slide past the window and tried to understand how my life had become a journey to inspect an imaginary housing development financed partly with my dead husband's savings.
Greg had finally returned home near midnight.
He would not tell us where he'd been.
Helen advised me not to argue with him.
She had already contacted the appropriate financial institutions and told me she was discussing next steps with investigators.
Greg slept in the guest room.
Dana slept downstairs on the sofa.
I barely slept at all.
Lakeview's promotional materials showed elegant townhouses beside a lake.
Stone entrances.
Tree-lined streets.
A community clubhouse.
Walking trails.
The address Greg eventually gave us led to twenty-seven acres of weeds.
No townhomes.
No clubhouse.
No construction equipment.
Not even a lake.
A rusted chain hung across the entrance.
A weathered FOR SALE sign leaned beside the road.
I stared through the windshield.
“This is it?”
Daniel parked.
“This is the parcel.”
We got out.
September wind moved through waist-high grass.
There were survey stakes along one side.
Nothing more.
Daniel walked toward the sign and studied it.
“Property was never developed.”
Marcus checked county data on his phone.
“Martin Keller doesn't own it.”
I already knew what that meant.
Still, hearing it hurt.
“Who does?”
“A holding company in Delaware.”
“Connected to him?”
“Doesn't look like it.”
Daniel crouched beside one faded stake.
“These have been here a while.”
“How long?”
“At least a year, maybe more.”
I imagined Greg looking at glossy renderings.
Listening to promises.
Putting in fifteen thousand dollars.
Then thirty-five.
Then eighty.
Every time the lie failed, he paid more to keep believing it.
It didn't excuse what he'd done to me.
But for the first time, I understood part of it.
He hadn't only been greedy.
He had been desperate to avoid admitting he had been fooled.
On the drive home, my phone rang.
Unknown number.
Helen told me to answer but put it on speaker.
“Mrs. Mercer?”
“Yes.”
“My name is Detective Olivia Grant. I work with the county financial-crimes unit.”
I glanced at Helen.
Her face remained neutral.
“I understand you've reported several accounts that may have been opened using your identity.”
“Yes.”
“I'd like to speak with you.”
“When?”
“Today, if possible.”
The police station smelled faintly of coffee and carpet cleaner.
Detective Grant was younger than I expected, perhaps forty.
She didn't treat me like a confused old woman.
That mattered.
She asked questions carefully.
Dates.
Documents.
Who had access to my identification.
Whether I had willingly given Greg money.
Whether I felt threatened.
I thought about the suitcase.
“He threatened to have me declared incompetent if I didn't sign my house over.”
Grant's expression didn't change, but her pen stopped.
“Exact words?”
“As close as I can remember.”
“Did anyone hear?”
“His wife.”
Daniel also confirmed parts of the conversation.
Then Grant asked about Martin Keller.
When Marcus explained the forged deed, Grant sat straighter.
“We're already looking at Keller.”
Helen turned.
“For what?”
“I can't discuss an active investigation in detail.”
“But?”
Grant closed her notebook.
“He appears connected to multiple investment complaints.”
“How many?”
“I can't say.”
I thought about Greg.
“Was my son a victim?”
Grant met my eyes.
“It's possible for someone to be a victim in one situation and an offender in another.”
That sentence stayed with me.
It was exactly what I needed to hear.
Greg might have been deceived by Martin.
That didn't erase what he had done to me.
Before we left, Grant asked one final question.
“Mrs. Mercer, would you like your son prosecuted if evidence shows he opened these accounts or forged documents?”
My throat tightened.
There are questions a mother never imagines answering.
I looked through the interview-room window.
Daniel sat outside.
He had brought me tea in a paper cup.
Walter would have known what to say.
At least I told myself that.
But perhaps he wouldn't.
Perhaps that was another fantasy we create about the dead.
They become wiser after they're gone because they never have to answer impossible questions.
“I want the truth,” I said.
Grant waited.
“And if the truth shows he committed crimes?”
I looked down at my hands.
“I don't want him protected from consequences because I'm his mother.”
It felt like cutting something inside myself.
But I meant it.
When we arrived home, Greg was waiting in the kitchen.
So was Dana.
He knew where we'd been.
“You went to the police.”
“Yes.”
He laughed once.
“Your own son.”
“My own son tried to take my house.”
“I didn't know Martin forged the notary.”
“You forged my signature.”
He looked at Dana.
She stared back.
“Did you?” I asked.
Greg walked toward the sink.
“Martin said it was temporary.”
“A forged signature is temporary?”
“He said once you signed the real deed, we'd replace it.”
My heart stopped.
“So you knew.”
He turned.
“I knew there was paperwork.”
“Did you sign my name?”
“No.”
“Who did?”
His mouth tightened.
“Martin.”
Dana whispered, “Greg.”
He snapped.
“What?”
“You told me Ruth signed it herself.”
“I was trying to keep you calm!”
She stared at him.
“You lied about everything.”
“Oh, don't act innocent. You wanted the house too.”
“I thought she agreed!”
“You heard me pushing her.”
“I didn't know you were stealing her identity!”
He laughed bitterly.
“Really? You didn't ask many questions when the credit cards paid for your trips.”
Dana slapped him.
The sound echoed through the kitchen.
Greg looked stunned.
So was I.
She backed away.
“I hate you.”
He touched his cheek.
“No, you hate that we got caught.”
Daniel stepped into the room.
“Enough.”
Greg pointed toward me.
“This is her fault.”
Something inside me finally broke free.
Not violently.
Quietly.
I walked to the table and picked up the suitcase he'd packed.
I carried it toward him.
He watched me.
Then I placed it at his feet.
“No.”
He stared down.
“What?”
“This isn't my suitcase anymore.”
I pointed toward the front door.
“Pack yours.”
“Mom—”
“You wanted me gone by Friday.”
“Don't do this.”
“You have thirty days legally.”
I glanced at Daniel.
“But I'd prefer you leave tonight.”
“You're choosing him over me?”
“No.”
I looked directly into my son's eyes.
“I'm choosing myself.”
He seemed to have no answer.
Then someone knocked.
For one foolish instant, I expected another lawyer.
Instead, Detective Grant stood outside with another officer.
Greg went white.
“Mr. Mercer?”
He didn't respond.
“We need to speak with you regarding Martin Keller.”
Greg looked at me.
I saw pure panic.
“What did you tell them?”
“The truth.”
Grant held up a document.
“We aren't here to arrest you at this time.”
“At this time?”
“We found Keller.”
Everyone froze.
Greg swallowed.
“Where?”
“Airport authorities detained him last night.”
Greg sank into a chair.
Grant continued.
“He was carrying documents related to several investors.”
She looked at me.
“Including you.”
I frowned.
“I never invested.”
“No.”
Grant's expression became serious.
“But according to the records we recovered, Mr. Keller had plans for something much larger than a forged deed.”
May you like
She turned toward Greg.
“And your son appears to have promised to help him.”
Related Stories
