Chapter 5 - Gloria’s Empty House
Police went to Gloria Webb’s home the next morning.
She was gone.
Her car was missing.
Her phone had been disconnected.
A neighbor said she had left sometime during the night carrying two suitcases.
That did not look like an innocent woman going on vacation.
Ramirez obtained a warrant.
Inside Gloria’s house, investigators found almost nothing.
Her desk had been cleaned out.
Computer gone.
Filing cabinets empty.
But people in a hurry always forget something.
Behind a bedroom dresser, police found a flash drive.
Ramirez called me to the station when they opened it.
The drive contained spreadsheets.
My name appeared dozens of times.
My salary.
My mortgage balance.
My retirement savings.
My life insurance.
Even estimates of my construction company stock options.
Someone had built a detailed map of my financial life.
Then I saw another tab.
AMY.
There were notes beside her name.
Emotionally dependent.
No independent income.
Limited family nearby.
Likely to leave if pressured.
I stared at those words until they blurred.
Amy had not simply been insulted.
She had been studied.
They had deliberately tried to make her feel unwelcome.
They wanted her gone.
Another note made everything worse.
Once Amy leaves, establish Connor as overwhelmed single father.
Then recommend Teresa manage household and finances.
I clenched my fists.
My mother had not merely lost her temper over time.
She had been following a plan.
Ramirez scrolled farther down.
There were entries going back almost a year.
Then we found the first major clue.
Investor payment.
$40,000.
I looked at Ramirez.
“What investor?”
He opened the attached document.
It was a private lending agreement.
Teresa had borrowed forty thousand dollars from someone named Leonard Crane.
She promised repayment within twelve months.
As security, she claimed partial ownership of my home.
She had never owned one inch of it.
“What happens if she can’t pay?”
Ramirez read the contract.
“The lender can pursue the collateral.”
“But the collateral isn’t hers.”
“Correct.”
“So why would anyone loan her money?”
Ramirez looked at me.
“That’s what concerns me.”
Either Leonard Crane had been deceived.
Or he knew exactly what she was doing.
I searched the name.
Leonard Crane was a local property investor.
He bought distressed homes.
Foreclosures.
Inheritance disputes.
Divorce properties.
People in financial trouble.
And according to the paperwork, my mother had promised him something specific.
Full control of my property before Frederick’s first birthday.
The birthday party had happened on the deadline.
Suddenly the timing made sense.
That celebration had created noise.
Relatives everywhere.
Doors unlocked.
Rooms unattended.
Amy trapped in the kitchen.
Me supposedly working until evening.
It was the perfect distraction.
While twenty people ate seafood in my backyard, Mason could enter my office unnoticed.
Except I came home early.
And their plan collapsed.
Or so I thought.
Then Ramirez’s computer chimed.
A new report had arrived.
Someone had accessed county property records that morning.
May you like
A deed transferring my house had just been submitted electronically.
And according to the system, I had signed it three weeks earlier.
