Chapter 4 - The House He Tried to Take
The next morning, I woke on a guest-room sofa at the Moretti estate.
Sophie was asleep beside me, her stuffed rabbit tucked beneath her chin.
I had not slept much. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw Patrick
standing beside Isabella in his white dinner jacket, smiling as if he
had done nothing wrong.
My phone was full of missed calls.
Patrick had called seventeen times.
My mother had called six.
I called her first.
“Julia?” she answered, breathless. “Where are you? Patrick told me you
had taken Sophie and disappeared.”
I looked at my daughter.
“I’m safe, Mom. Sophie is with me.”
“What happened?”
I told her the simplest version. Patrick had lied about the wedding,
Sophie had been frightened, and we were staying with people who could
help us arrange legal advice.
My mother began to cry.
“I should never have let him take her.”
“You didn’t know.”
“He told me it was a birthday dinner.”
“I know.”
After we hung up, Marisol arrived with an interpreter and a family
attorney named Rachel Kim. Rachel explained that the most important
immediate steps were to make sure Sophie was safe, preserve the
documents, and avoid signing anything Patrick sent.
She also asked whether I had access to our bank accounts.
I opened the banking app.
The joint savings account showed a balance of $184.
I stared at the screen.
There had been nearly thirty thousand dollars in it the previous month.
Rachel asked me to download the statements and not contact Patrick about
the missing funds yet.
Then she reviewed the property documents.
“The application lists a home-equity loan against your marital
residence,” she said. “The lender appears to have received a signature
attributed to you. If you did not sign it, that needs to be
investigated.”
“I didn’t.”
“Do you recognize the notary?”
I looked at the page.
The notary’s name belonged to a woman who worked in Patrick’s real
estate office.
Rachel made a note.
“Do not assume the loan is valid just because the paperwork exists. We
need to notify the lender that you dispute the signature and request the
original records.”
Luca had arranged for a separate forensic document examiner to review
the signature. He had also asked Dana Brooks to provide the file she had
kept.
By noon, the examiner had identified several differences between my
genuine signature and the one on the loan application.
The application had been submitted electronically from an office
computer.
The lender had not yet released the funds to Patrick’s new property
company.
Rachel looked up from her notes.
“That may be important. We need to act quickly, but through the proper
channels.”
I called my mother again and asked her to photograph the documents
Patrick had left at our house. She found a folder hidden in the desk
drawer.
Inside were printouts of emails, a property purchase agreement, and a
spreadsheet.
One line was highlighted in yellow:
Bennett residence—equity release, $210,000.
The next line read:
Wisconsin property—purchase funds.
The final line made my hands go cold:
Child placement—Monday.
Rachel asked me to send the photographs directly to her.
“This looks like he planned the financial transfer and the school
placement together,” she said. “But we need to verify what the final
line means.”
I thought of Sophie’s little pink purse and the brass key.
Patrick had not asked her to bring one toy because he wanted her to feel
grown up.
He had asked because he expected her to leave home.
That afternoon, Isabella came to the guest room.
She had changed out of her wedding dress and wore jeans and a plain
sweater. Her eyes were swollen.
“I spoke with the school,” she said. “They told me Patrick had paid a
deposit and sent a copy of a custody document.”
Rachel looked up.
“Did you see the document?”
Isabella nodded.
“He showed it to me last week. He said Julia had signed permission for
Sophie to attend. I didn’t question it.”
“Did you send anything to the school?”
“No. Patrick handled everything.”
She turned to me.
“I can give you the emails. I can tell them I never believed I was her
legal guardian.”
I was quiet.
“Why did you help him?”
She looked down.
“Because I wanted to believe he had been honest about his past. He told
me you were cruel to him. He said you had kept Sophie from him and that
he was trying to build a peaceful life.”
“You knew he was still married.”
“He said the divorce was final.”
I looked at her.
“You stood beside him in a wedding dress.”
“I know.”
She began to cry again.
I did not comfort her.
But I listened when she offered to help.
Because the truth was more useful than another argument.
By evening, Rachel had contacted the lender and the school. Both agreed
to preserve the records and pause further action while the disputed
documents were reviewed.
The house was still ours.
May you like
For now, Patrick had not managed to take it.
But the fight was only beginning.
