Chapter 23: The Truth Hidden in My Mother's Letters

My attorney spent the next three hours going through every document we had found.

The deeper we looked, the worse the Mercer family's story became.

There were payment records between Grant's father and a company I had never heard of.

There were letters from my mother refusing every offer they had made.

And there was one document that made my attorney stop reading altogether.

“Mara, look at this.”

I leaned over the table.

It was an old purchase agreement for Lighthouse Hill.

The buyer was listed as a Mercer-controlled company.

The seller was my mother.

But beneath my mother's signature was another signature.

It wasn't hers.

Someone had forged her name.

My stomach tightened.

“They tried to transfer the property without her consent.”

My attorney nodded.

“And there's more.”

He turned the page.

Attached to the agreement was a payment record showing a large sum transferred to someone who had worked for my mother at the time.

“Bribery,” I whispered.

“Potentially.”

I stared at the document.

For years, I had believed my mother's battles with the Mercers were simply business disagreements.

They weren't.

They had tried to take her home.

When that failed, they had waited for her to die.

Then they tried to reach me through Grant.

My attorney pulled another letter from the stack.

This one was dated six months before my mother died.

I unfolded it carefully.

“Mara, there is something I need you to know about Grant.”

My breath caught.

I kept reading.

“He has always been kind to you, and I have never wanted to interfere with your happiness. But his father has been asking questions about Lighthouse Hill again.”

The next sentence made my hands shake.

“If Grant ever asks you to sign anything involving the property, don't sign it.”

I lowered the letter.

Grant had never asked me directly.

He had always said the paperwork was routine.

The prenup.

The family trust documents.

The residential agreement for Sloane.

He had always told me there was nothing to worry about.

My attorney looked at me carefully.

“Did Grant ever have access to your property records?”

I thought about it.

Then I remembered.

Three years ago, after my mother's estate was finalized, Grant had offered to organize my documents.

He had taken copies of everything.

I had trusted him.

“Yes.”

My attorney's expression hardened.

“Then we need to assume they knew exactly what you owned.”

My phone suddenly lit up.

A message from an unknown number appeared.

“You should have married Grant when you had the chance.”

A second message followed.

“Once the court sees how unstable you've become, Lighthouse Hill won't stay yours.”

I stared at the screen.

Someone was watching me.

My attorney immediately told me not to respond.

Then another message arrived.

This one contained a photograph.

It showed Grant standing outside the Mercer family office.

Beside him was Sloane.

But that wasn't what made my blood run cold.

Behind them stood Grant's father.

The three of them were looking at the same folder.

The label on it was clearly visible.

LIGHTHOUSE HILL.

I zoomed in on the photograph.

My attorney took the phone from my hand.

“This changes things.”

“Why?”

“Because they aren't waiting for the court.”

He looked at me grimly.

“They're preparing to take the property before the hearing.”

I stood up.

“Then we move first.”

For the first time since the wedding that never happened, I wasn't running away.

I was finally ready to fight.