Brenda remained just behind him near the entrance, still wearing the bathrobe she had taken from my belongings.

Despite the camera’s limited image quality, I immediately recognized Brenda’s familiar manner whenever she believed someone had treated her unfairly. Her chin rose noticeably, her shoulders stiffened, and she placed one hand theatrically over her chest.

A third person suddenly appeared within the camera’s field of view.

She was a neatly dressed woman wearing a fitted coat, with a substantial leather document case tucked beneath one arm.

She obviously was not another police officer.

The woman calmly gestured toward an object positioned on the exterior wall beside the large front entrance.

I enlarged the image with my fingers, hoping to identify what had caught her attention.

An official-looking envelope was attached to the wall directly underneath the illuminated porch fixture.

I certainly had not left anything there.

My smartphone began ringing once more.

Gavin was calling again, but I allowed the ringing to end without answering.

Approximately thirty seconds later, an unfamiliar phone number appeared across my screen.

This time, I accepted the incoming call.

“Hello?” I answered cautiously.

“May I confirm that I am speaking with Mrs. Claire Thornton?” asked a courteous, professional-sounding man.

“Yes, speaking,” I replied.

“This is Officer Raymond from the local police department. I am currently present at the Maple Avenue residence.”

My stomach tightened immediately with concern. “Has somebody been injured?”

“No, ma’am. Everyone currently here appears physically unharmed,” he explained reassuringly.

I released the breath I had unconsciously been holding. “Then could you explain why officers are outside my home?”

After a short hesitation, he answered. “We received a call concerning a disagreement over authorized entry to the property. A representative of Oakridge Property Services arrived earlier to deliver an inspection notification, but Mr. Gavin Thornton insisted that he was the property’s exclusive owner. The representative presented official ownership documents naming you as the sole registered owner.”

I glanced toward the darkened window of the peaceful hotel room where I had temporarily taken refuge.

“Oakridge Property Services?” I repeated, confused. “I have never employed a property management business.”

“That appears to be the central misunderstanding,” Officer Raymond responded.

On my phone’s security footage, the woman wearing the dark coat came back into view.

“Would you be comfortable speaking with the company’s representative while officers remain present?” he asked politely.

“Yes, I would appreciate that,” I answered.

Moments later, a calm female voice came through the telephone instead of the officer’s.

“Mrs. Thornton, my name is Valerie Stone,” she introduced herself.

“Who authorized your company to visit my property?” I asked without hesitation.

She paused briefly before responding. “Our services were requested by attorneys acting on behalf of Madeline Thornton’s estate.”

I remained motionless on the mattress. “My aunt p@ssed away eight years ago.”

“Yes, ma’am, I understand,” Valerie answered.

“Her estate was completely finalized years ago,” I reminded her.

“Yes, I am familiar with that information too,” she replied.

“Then why would anyone connected with her estate be examining my private residence at two in the morning?”

Valerie gave a small, apologetic laugh before explaining. “Our visit was never intended to take place at this hour. I first came by shortly after nine yesterday evening to deliver the documents. Although several interior lights were illuminated, nobody responded when I approached the entrance, so I posted the notice and returned to my car. At approximately one forty-five, your mother-in-law came outside, removed the paperwork from the wall, and approached me in the driveway. Our disagreement became increasingly difficult, eventually leading someone to request police assistance.”

That sounded exactly like something Brenda would do.

“What information is included in that notice?” I asked.

“It requests official confirmation of the property’s present occupants before a required legal title examination,” Valerie explained.

“A title examination?” I repeated. “What would make a review of my ownership documents necessary?”

“The attorney overseeing this particular matter would be better qualified to explain the reasons behind that request,” she suggested.

She then mentioned the attorney’s name.

Samantha Cross.

At that moment, I had never heard that name before.

“If you wish, I can provide her direct office telephone number,” Valerie offered helpfully.

“Yes, please,” I replied, quickly recording the information.

Before ending our conversation, Valerie added something important. “And Mrs. Thornton, I want to reassure you about one detail. According to our official internal documentation, you are unquestionably identified as the property’s only legal owner.”

I shut my eyes briefly and allowed myself a small breath of relief.

At least one essential part of my life remained exactly as it should.

“I sincerely appreciate your confirming that,” I answered before ending the conversation.

Once the telephone call disconnected, I remained seated beside the bed, surrounded by the hotel’s profound nighttime quiet.

Only three days earlier, I had left my own residence with a single suitcase, my computer, the red folder, and enough determination to prevent my trembling legs from giving way before I reached my vehicle.

I had driven directly to the apartment belonging to Chloe, my closest and most trusted friend.

When Chloe opened her apartment door, she noticed my suitcase and asked just one straightforward question.

“Would you prefer a nice warm cup of tea, or would some peaceful silence help you more right now?”

I nearly started crying on the spot because she had not pressured me to explain everything immediately.

I spent that first night sleeping on her couch.

Early the following morning, I checked into a downtown hotel, mainly because I wanted somewhere secure that Gavin would have difficulty locating.

During the next three days, I focused entirely on handling essential legal matters.

I updated every password protecting my online accounts, contacted my banks, suspended our shared credit accounts, and arranged an appointment with a family law attorney recommended by Chloe.

I also prepared additional copies of every document stored inside my red folder.

Completing those practical tasks gave me a much-needed sense of stability amid everything happening.