Chapter 10 - The Stranger Upstairs
Police enhanced the exterior camera footage.
The stranger had arrived in a silver Honda registered to a company called Cumberland Data Solutions.
Daniel searched the business.
Tiny office.
Almost no online presence.
Owner.
Steven Price.
Forty-two years old.
Former private investigator.
That explained the surveillance.
Detective Morales brought him in for questioning.
Steven initially claimed he had been hired to evaluate home security.
“By whom?”
“Teresa Bradley.”
“Did Connor Bradley authorize this?”
Steven hesitated.
“No.”
The interview continued.
By the end of the day, Steven admitted Teresa had hired him six months earlier.
His original assignment was simple.
Determine whether Amy was having an affair.
She wasn’t.
So Teresa changed the assignment.
Track Amy’s movements.
Photograph her.
Document medical appointments.
Identify financial institutions used by Connor.
Then she asked Steven whether he could access my home computer.
He refused at first.
Teresa doubled his fee.
Steven installed the remote-access device during Frederick’s birthday party because the house was crowded enough to conceal him.
I wanted to know what information he obtained.
The answer was terrifying.
Emails.
Tax documents.
Financial statements.
Personal photographs.
Scans of identification.
And potentially saved passwords.
Fortunately, the device had been active for less than forty-eight hours before police discovered it.
But one file had definitely been copied.
A folder called LEGACY.
It contained information about an inheritance account my father’s sister had created for me years ago.
Approximate value.
One hundred eighty thousand dollars.
I barely touched it.
My mother knew it existed but had never known exactly where it was held.
Until Steven copied the file.
“Did Teresa receive the information?” I asked Morales.
“We believe so.”
“Can she access the account?”
“Not without additional credentials.”
I thought about our missing passports.
Social Security information.
Forged power of attorney.
Signature samples.
Suddenly, the purpose became obvious.
She was assembling identity.
Not simply documents.
She wanted enough pieces to impersonate authority over my financial life.
Then Steven gave investigators another detail.
Teresa had discussed leaving Tennessee.
“Leaving where?”
“Florida.”
“She mentioned a property near Sarasota.”
Daniel searched Bradley Family Holdings again.
There it was.
A second real estate inquiry.
Not completed.
But started.
Price.
Six hundred and ten thousand dollars.
My mother’s ambitions had grown considerably.
She intended to use stolen equity and possibly my inherited money to build an entirely new life.
At forty, I had spent decades working.
Early mornings.
Job sites in freezing rain.
Deadlines.
Certification exams.
Overtime.
Everything I accumulated represented time I would never get back.
My mother looked at that lifetime of work and saw inventory.
Amy found me sitting alone in the garage that night.
“What are you doing?”
“Thinking.”
“That usually looks dangerous on you.”
I smiled faintly.
She sat beside me on the workbench.
“I keep asking myself why she hates you.”
Amy looked surprised.
“Maybe she doesn’t.”
“She tried to destroy you.”
“That doesn’t necessarily mean hate.”
“What else could it mean?”
“Possession.”
I looked at her.
Amy continued.
“She thinks loving someone means owning part of them.”
“Their choices.”
“Their loyalty.”
“Their money.”
“Their children.”
I realized she was right.
Teresa didn’t hate me.
She believed I belonged to her.
My success belonged to her.
My house belonged to her.
My son belonged to her.
And Amy’s greatest crime was standing between my mother and what she considered her property.
Two days later, Teresa was released under strict conditions while the investigation continued.
She was ordered not to contact us.
Not directly.
Not through family.
Not through electronic communication.
For exactly six hours, she followed the order.
Then someone left a package outside our gate.
No return address.
Inside was the blue dress I had bought Amy for Frederick’s birthday.
I had left the shopping bag inside my car during the chaos.
I hadn’t realized it was missing.
The dress had been cut into pieces.
On top was a note.
You took my son.
Now I’ll take yours.
I called Morales immediately.
This was no longer manipulation hidden beneath family loyalty.
May you like
My mother had written a threat involving my child.
And this time, nobody could pretend she meant well.
