Chapter 3 - The Papers That Should Never Have ExistedMy attorney's name was Daniel Brooks.
He had represented my family for fifteen years.
He was not a man who panicked.
So when he called instead of texting, I answered immediately.
“Daniel?”
“Jack, listen carefully.”
“I'm listening.”
“There is a fraudulent ownership claim attached to your property.”
My eyes moved toward Karen.
“What kind?”
“Someone filed a transfer affidavit.”
“Transfer?”
“Yes.”
“Who supposedly transferred the property?”
“Your father.”
My blood went cold.
“My father died eight years ago.”
“I know.”
“Then how did he sign it?”
“He didn't.”
Daniel's voice was quiet.
“His signature was forged.”
I looked toward my boys.
Then toward the ranch house.
“How recent?”
“Six weeks.”
Six weeks.
I thought back.
Nothing had happened six weeks ago.
Or at least nothing I had noticed.
“Who filed it?”
“That is the problem.”
“What?”
“The filing lists a company called Whitmore Holdings.”
Karen.
I closed my eyes.
“Who owns it?”
“We're checking.”
“Daniel.”
“Yes?”
“Find out everything.”
“I already have someone pulling the corporate records.”
“What about the property?”
“Your original deed is still valid.”
“So I'm safe?”
“Legally, yes.”
“Then why would they do this?”
“Because sometimes people don't need to own something to profit from controlling it.”
I looked at the party.
“What does that mean?”
“They could have used the fraudulent filing as collateral.”
“For what?”
“Loans.”
My stomach tightened.
“How much?”
Daniel paused.
“I'm not sure yet.”
“Find out.”
“I'm working on it.”
The police arrived five minutes later.
Two officers stepped through the gate.
Karen immediately rushed toward them.
“Officer! Thank God.”
She pointed at me.
“That man is trespassing.”
One officer looked at me.
“Sir, are you the property owner?”
“Yes.”
“Do you have identification?”
I handed him my driver's license.
Then I opened the property record on my phone.
The second officer studied it.
Karen interrupted.
“That document is false.”
The officer looked at her.
“Ma'am, we need to establish ownership.”
“I already told you. My family owns this property.”
“Do you have documentation?”
“Yes.”
She reached into her purse.
She handed him a folder.
The officer opened it.
I watched his expression change.
Karen smiled.
“That's our deed.”
The officer studied the papers.
Then looked at me.
“Sir, can you provide your deed?”
“Yes.”
I opened the digital copy.
He compared them.
The same property.
Two different owners.
One document was legitimate.
One wasn't.
The officer frowned.
“Ma'am, where did you obtain this?”
“Through our attorney.”
“What's the attorney's name?”
She gave it.
The officer wrote it down.
Then he looked at me.
“Mr. Callahan, do you have proof that you've owned this property for eighteen years?”
“Yes.”
I showed him tax records.
Utility bills.
Insurance documents.
Property surveys.
My mortgage records.
The officer looked increasingly uncomfortable.
Karen's confidence began to disappear.
“This is ridiculous,” she said.
The officer turned toward her.
“Ma'am, until ownership is established, I can't remove him from the property.”
“He's lying!”
“Ma'am.”
“He's trying to ruin my birthday.”
The officer sighed.
“Then I suggest you end the event.”
Karen stared at him.
“You're joking.”
“No.”
The second officer stepped forward.
“You also have several vehicles parked on private property.”
Karen's face turned red.
“This is my property!”
The officer looked at the document.
“According to the county records, it isn't.”
Silence.
The DJ stopped.
People began whispering.
Karen looked around.
For the first time all afternoon, she looked uncertain.
Then her phone rang.
She answered.
“Hello?”
Her face changed.
“What?”
She walked away.
I watched her.
Something was happening.
Then she turned toward me.
Her eyes were full of fear.
She ended the call.
I walked toward her.
“What happened?”
She said nothing.
“Karen?”
She looked at me.
“You knew.”
“Knew what?”
“You knew this was happening.”
“I didn't.”
She shook her head.
“Someone told me you would be easy to deal with.”
My eyes narrowed.
“Who?”
She realized her mistake.
Her lips parted.
Then she stopped.
“Who told you?”
She looked away.
I waited.
Finally she whispered one word.
“Andrew.”
My heart stopped.
Andrew.
My younger brother.
The brother who had died in a motorcycle accident twelve years ago.
Impossible.
I stepped closer.
“Which Andrew?”
She stared at me.
“Andrew Callahan.”
My blood ran cold.
She had no idea what she had just opened.
May you like
Because my brother Andrew had been dead for twelve years.
And whoever had been using his name had been planning this long before Karen ever heard of my ranch.
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