He lets her in. Evelyn walks in with the confidence of someone who owns the place. They don’t turn on the overheads, just a small lamp.
I zoomed in. Their faces were tight with focus. They headed straight for the office.
The office camera caught everything. Mark opened my filing cabinet. He pulled out the folder containing the deed and the title insurance.
That specific folder. My heart started hammering so loud I thought it would drown out the audio on the recording.
— “She has no idea,” he said quietly.
His voice was clear. Sharp. Evelyn replied with a chilling calmness:
— “And she won’t. Once we get the power of attorney signed, it’s a done deal.”
I paused the video. I couldn’t breathe. Everything I’d suspected was true, but seeing it—hearing it—was a different kind of pain.
I hit play again.
— “We need to move on this before the end of the month,” he continued. “After that, the window closes.”
I stared at the screen, and something inside me finally snapped. It wasn’t a loud break. It was quiet.
Final. Now I knew. And that was why the technician’s visit was the best money I’d ever spent. I watched the rest of the footage without blinking.
Every word was a calculated blow.
— “What if she finds out?”
