Chapter 5 - The Stolen Safe
By two o'clock that afternoon, Brandon had called my phone forty-seven times. He had left sixteen voicemails, alternating between tearful apologies, frantic pleas for money, and furious threats of legal action.
*“Charlotte, please, Walter suspended me! They took my company laptop! Mom is having chest pains! You have to come back and tell Walter that Saturday was a misunderstanding! If I lose this job, we lose the apartment!”*
*“Charlotte, pick up the phone! You’re my wife! You took vows! If you ruin my family over a petty dinner argument, God will punish you!”*
*“Where did you move the savings? Chase told me my name isn't authorized on the Phoenix deposit account! That is marital property! I will sue you for every penny!”*
I didn't answer a single call. I simply saved each voicemail to an external flash drive and forwarded copies to my attorney, Marcus Vance—no relation to Brandon, fortunately—a veteran divorce lawyer whose office was two blocks from the county courthouse.
At three-fifteen, Marcus called me into his office.
“Well, Charlotte, your instincts were dead-on,” Marcus said, leaning back in his leather chair and tossing a white document onto the mahogany desk. “We filed the petition for legal separation and an emergency freeze on all joint marital property at eleven o’clock. The judge signed the temporary injunction thirty minutes ago.”
“What about the gold coins?” I asked.
“That’s where things get interesting,” Marcus said, tapping his fingers together. “Your mother-in-law tried to access the El Cajon safe deposit box at one-forty-five today. She walked into the branch with your key and a forged power of attorney bearing your signature.”
My blood ran cold. “She forged my name?”
“She didn't just forge your name,” Marcus smiled thinly. “She used a power of attorney template she downloaded off the internet, and she had her daughter, Hannah, sign as the notary public. Problem is, Hannah’s notary commission was revoked by the state of California six months ago for failing to maintain her official journal.”
I stared at him in disbelief. “You’re joking.”
“I don't joke about felony document fraud, Charlotte,” Marcus replied. “The branch manager knew your mother personally. When Rosalind presented the document, the manager became suspicious, stalled her in the private conference room, and contacted your father, whose name is still listed as a secondary emergency contact on the box registry.”
“And then?”
“Your father told them to call the police.”
I sat back in the chair, a long, ragged exhale leaving my chest.
Rosalind had become so accustomed to dominating her quiet husband, cowing her weak son, and bullying anyone who entered her sphere of influence that she genuinely believed the laws of the state did not apply to her. She thought her will was law.
“Did they arrest her?” I asked.
“Not yet,” Marcus said. “The branch manager didn't want a scene in the lobby, so Rosalind panicked and fled before the squad car arrived. But the bank surrendered the surveillance footage and the fraudulent power of attorney to the San Diego County Sheriff's Department. There is currently an active investigation into Rosalind and Hannah Vance for attempted grand larceny and identity fraud.”
Before I could reply, my phone chimed with a text message from an unknown number.
I tapped the screen.
It was a photograph.
The photo showed the front door of our rented apartment in Mission Valley. The lock had been drilled out, the metal handle hanging loose from the wood.
Beneath the image was a text:
*“I told you that you don’t get to lock me out of my own life. If you don’t bring thirty-five thousand dollars in a cashier's check to my mother’s showroom by six o'clock, every single thing you left in this apartment will be burned in the backyard. Try me.”*
May you like
It was Brandon.
***
