Rachel did not care.
She knew where Mason was going.
Upstairs.
To Ethan’s backpack.
The interior of the house was nearly black except for flashes of phone light moving through the hallway.
Rachel set Ethan down inside the kitchen.
“Stay here.”
He grabbed her dress.
“No.”
“Baby, I need you to stay with Grandma.”
“He’s going to take it.”
Rachel crouched.
“He won’t.”
“But—”
“I promise.”
It was a dangerous promise.
Yet she made it because Ethan had already been terrified enough for one night.
Evelyn appeared in the doorway supported by Olivia.
“Go,” Evelyn said.
Rachel hesitated.
“I’ve got him.”
Rachel kissed Ethan’s forehead and ran.
She heard footsteps above her.
Mason.
The staircase curved along the main foyer beneath a massive crystal chandelier, now dark.
Rachel climbed two stairs at a time.
Halfway up, the emergency lights flickered on.
A dim yellow glow spread through the hallway.
Mason had nearly reached the guest bedrooms.
“Mason!”
He glanced back.
For half a second, guilt flashed across his face.
Then he ran faster.
Rachel followed.
He reached the bedroom door, shoved it open, and crossed toward the bed.
Ethan’s green dinosaur backpack sat on the floor beside the nightstand.
Mason grabbed it.
Rachel reached him before he could open the zipper.
She seized the strap.
“Let go.”
“Rachel, stop.”
“Give me the bag.”
“This is bigger than you understand.”
“That’s what guilty people say when they’re cornered.”
Mason pulled.
Rachel held on.
The fabric stretched between them.
“Mom signed those papers.”
“You just told everyone they were business documents.”
“They are.”
“With her photograph?”
Mason’s mouth tightened.
Rachel yanked harder.
The zipper tore open.
Crayons, a small toy truck, crackers, a folded drawing, and a blue document spilled across the hardwood floor.
Both adults looked down.
The paper landed between them.
Mason moved first.
Rachel kicked it away.
It slid under the bed.
Mason cursed.
Rachel shoved him backward.
“Don’t.”
“You have no idea what you’re doing.”
“I’m protecting my family.”
“So am I.”
Rachel laughed once.
The sound held no humor.
“You tied my son to a column.”
Mason’s face twisted.
“I was trying to get the document back before someone misunderstood it.”
“You slapped him.”
“He wouldn’t answer.”
“He’s five.”
“I know how old he is!”
His shout filled the room.
Then silence.
Mason seemed to hear himself.
Rachel stared at him.
Something had broken.
The polished businessman, the dependable son, the brother who always handled emergencies was gone.
In his place stood a desperate man.
Rachel lowered her voice.
“What did you do?”
Mason looked toward the hallway.
“No one was supposed to see those papers.”
“That isn’t an answer.”
He rubbed both hands over his face.
“You don’t know what Mom’s finances look like.”
“Then tell me.”
“She was losing money.”
Rachel frowned.
“How?”
“The company had debt.”
“What company debt?”
Mason looked away.
Rachel stepped closer.
“The Carter properties are nearly paid off.”
“They were.”
A cold sensation crawled up Rachel’s spine.
“What does that mean?”
Mason sat on the edge of the bed.
For the first time, he looked tired rather than angry.
“Two years ago, one of my investments failed.”
Rachel stared.
“What investment?”
“It doesn’t matter.”
“It matters if you used Mom’s money.”
“I intended to repay it.”
“How much?”
Mason said nothing.
“How much?”
“Rachel—”
“How much?”
His answer came barely above a whisper.
“Almost seven hundred thousand.”
Rachel felt the room tilt.
She grabbed the dresser.
“You stole seven hundred thousand dollars?”
“I borrowed it.”
“Without asking.”
“I had authority.”
“To pay her bills.”
“I had financial access.”
“That isn’t permission.”
Mason stood abruptly.
“You think everything is simple because you left.”
Rachel flinched.
He saw it and pressed harder.
“You moved to Boston. You built your life. I stayed here. I handled Dad when he was sick. I dealt with the company. I managed Mom’s house.”
“I came home every weekend.”
“You weren’t here.”
“This is not about me.”
“It became about me years ago!”
His voice cracked.
Rachel looked at him differently.
There was resentment beneath the panic.
Old resentment.
Perhaps older than the money.
Mason continued.
“Dad trusted me with everything until the end, then suddenly Mom wanted you on every document too. She told the lawyer the estate should be divided equally.”
Rachel stared.
“You stole because you didn’t want to share an inheritance?”
“No.”
“You just said—”
“I was trying to fix what I lost.”
“With her money.”
“I had a plan.”
“You always have a plan.”
Rachel dropped to her knees beside the bed.
Mason moved.
She looked up sharply.
“Stay back.”
He stopped.
Rachel reached under the frame.
Her fingers touched paper.
She pulled it out.
The document was blue at the top.
Ethan had been right.
There was a photograph of Evelyn in the upper corner.
Below it was a title.
APPLICATION FOR HOME EQUITY CREDIT LINE.
Rachel read further.
Property address.
Evelyn’s house.
Loan amount.
$950,000.
Rachel’s hands went cold.
The signature at the bottom looked like Evelyn’s.
But something was wrong.
Her mother always made the final “n” in Carter’s first name curl slightly upward.
This signature did not.
Rachel looked at Mason.
“You forged this.”
“No.”
“This isn’t Mom’s signature.”
“She signed electronically.”
“This is handwritten.”
“She authorized it.”
“When?”
Mason’s eyes shifted.
Rachel stood.
“When?”
He did not answer.
Rachel looked at the date.
Three months earlier.
Three months ago, Evelyn had been recovering from wrist surgery.
Her right hand had been in a brace.
“She couldn’t hold a pen.”
Mason’s face changed.
That was all the confirmation Rachel needed.
“Oh my God.”
“It’s not what you think.”
“You forged a loan against her house.”
“I needed liquidity.”
“You stole her savings and mortgaged her home.”
“I was going to fix it.”
“With what?”
Mason looked away.
Rachel suddenly remembered something.
The new car.
The renovated office.
Carla’s jewelry.
The expensive vacations.
But perhaps they were only part of it.
“What investment?”
Mason walked toward the window.
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