Chapter 6 - They Tried to Make Me the Criminal
Three days later, I was placed on administrative leave.
Not fired.
Not accused.
But escorted out of my office while an outside forensic team examined every transaction connected to my credentials.
I had spent six years building my reputation.
It took Jeremy less than six minutes with stolen passwords to place it in danger.
Someone had accessed my work laptop remotely on three separate nights.
The first login happened from our home Wi-Fi.
The second from Blue Meridian's office.
The third from the Brickell condo.
Jeremy denied everything.
Then he did something worse.
He hired a lawyer.
His attorney, Samuel Pike, sent my company a letter claiming Jeremy had evidence that I had personally invested in Blue Meridian and had used company funds to cover losses after the development failed.
According to Jeremy's new story, I was not a victim.
I was the mastermind.
The letter included screenshots of text messages.
They appeared to show me writing:
Move the vendor payment before audit closes.
Use Harbor. Nobody checks small consulting companies.
Mom can handle the trust papers.
I stared at them in Lawrence's office.
“I never wrote these.”
“I know.”
“They look real.”
“They're fabricated.”
“How do we prove it?”
“Forensics.”
Jeremy had underestimated something important.
Digital evidence had a body.
Metadata.
Device records.
Cloud backups.
Carrier logs.
Authentication history.
A screenshot could lie.
The systems around it were much harder to manipulate.
While forensic specialists worked, I returned to the hotel and tried not to imagine my career collapsing.
Then Edith called.
I almost ignored it.
Something made me answer.
“Hello?”
Her voice was gentle.
I had never heard Edith speak to me that way.
“Blaire, sweetheart.”
Every instinct told me to hang up.
“What do you want?”
“To fix this.”
“You had five years.”
“Jeremy is frightened.”
“He should be.”
“He thinks you're going to send him to prison.”
“I haven't decided what happens to Jeremy.”
“That means yes.”
“That means the consequences belong to the people who committed the acts.”
She sighed.
“We're family.”
“No. Families don't forge deeds.”
“Your father would hate what you're doing.”
That sentence erased whatever softness remained in me.
“Do not talk about my father.”
“He wanted this house to protect you.”
“Exactly.”
“And now you're using it to destroy your husband.”
“No. Jeremy used it to finance a fraudulent company.”
“He made one mistake.”
“Three hundred eighty thousand dollars, fake vendors, stolen corporate funds, an affair, a forged trust amendment, and fabricated messages are more than one mistake.”
Silence.
Then Edith said something unexpected.
“You don't know Jeremy as well as you think.”
“I agree.”
“No. You really don't.”
“What is that supposed to mean?”
Another pause.
“Meet me.”
“No.”
“I can prove Jeremy is responsible for things you think I did.”
I almost smiled.
The family was eating itself.
“What things?”
“The trust amendment.”
“You forged it.”
“I did not.”
“Mason says it was in your storage unit.”
“It was.”
“Then explain.”
“Not over the phone.”
“Why?”
“Because Jeremy checks my calls.”
That was interesting.
“Where?”
“Tomorrow morning. Nine o'clock. Saint Agnes Church.”
I hesitated.
“My lawyer will come.”
“No.”
“Then I won't.”
Edith breathed sharply.
“Fine. Bring him.”
The next morning, Lawrence and I entered the small church near Little Havana.
Edith sat alone in the last pew.
She looked ten years older.
No jewelry.
No makeup.
A simple blue dress.
When she saw Lawrence, she frowned.
“You really brought him.”
“I told you I would.”
Edith handed me an envelope.
Inside were printed emails between Jeremy and a document-preparation service in Nevada.
He had commissioned a “historic trust reconstruction.”
The instructions included samples of my father's signature.
My hands went cold.
Jeremy had ordered the forged amendment.
Not Edith.
“Where did you get these?”
“His old laptop.”
“Why did you keep the document?”
“Because I knew what it was.”
“That doesn't answer me.”
Edith looked toward the altar.
“Insurance.”
Against her own son.
Of course.
“What else?”
She swallowed.
“The first mortgage wasn't my idea.”
“But you forged my signature.”
“Yes.”
The word echoed through the church.
Lawrence remained silent.
Edith continued.
“Jeremy said you would never agree to invest. He said the house would double in value anyway and that we'd pay the money back before you noticed.”
“So you signed my name.”
“He told me it was temporary.”
“You are seventy-one years old, Edith. Stop pretending your son made you hold the pen.”
Her face hardened.
Then softened again.
“I was wrong.”
“That doesn't return three hundred eighty thousand dollars.”
“I know.”
“Where is the Palm Lantern money?”
She looked at Lawrence.
He spoke for the first time.
“If you're considering cooperation, you should obtain independent counsel.”
“I don't need a lawyer.”
“You absolutely do.”
She ignored him.
“There is one hundred forty-six thousand left.”
I stared at her.
“Cash?”
“Some.”
“And the rest?”
“Gold. Jewelry. A cashier's check.”
“Why?”
“Because Mason was stealing.”
“Mason says you were.”
“He was.”
“So you stole it first?”
Her eyes flashed.
“I protected it.”
I nearly laughed.
Everyone in this family had a beautiful word for theft.
Investment.
Protection.
Temporary borrowing.
Nothing was ever simply what it was.
“Will you return it?”
“Yes.”
That surprised me.
“All of it?”
“If you agree to one thing.”
Of course.
“What?”
“Do not take the house away from me.”
I stared at her.
“You don't own it.”
“I have nowhere else.”
“You had years to prepare for that.”
“I spent everything helping Jeremy.”
“No. You spent my money helping Jeremy.”
Tears appeared in her eyes.
This time they looked real.
“Please.”
There was a time I would have surrendered instantly.
A time guilt worked on me like a key.
But something had changed.
“I will not make you homeless tomorrow,” I said. “But you will not keep my house.”
Her face crumpled.
Lawrence looked at me, but I continued.
“If you cooperate completely, return every dollar and every document, and tell the truth about what happened, I will agree to a reasonable move-out period.”
“How long?”
“That's for the lawyers to negotiate.”
She nodded slowly.
Then she whispered, “Jeremy will destroy me.”
It was the first time Edith sounded afraid of her own son.
“What do you mean?”
“He knows I kept records.”
“What records?”
She looked around the empty church.
“Everything.”
My phone rang.
Cynthia.
I answered.
“Blaire, we have the forensic report.”
My heart stopped.
“And?”
“The screenshots Jeremy's attorney sent are fake.”
I closed my eyes.
Cynthia continued.
“And we identified the device used to access your credentials.”
“Jeremy's?”
“No.”
I opened my eyes.
“Whose?”
“A tablet registered to Edith Jameson.”
I turned.
Edith's face went white.
I lowered the phone.
“You used my work credentials.”
She shook her head.
“No.”
“The device was yours.”
“No.”
“Edith.”
“I gave that tablet to Jeremy months ago.”
“When?”
“Christmas.”
Lawrence and I exchanged a glance.
That could be verified.
Receipts.
Device activation.
Network history.
Then Cynthia added something else.
“Blaire, there was another login attempt this morning.”
My pulse jumped.
“This morning?”
“From your home address.”
Edith sat beside me.
Jeremy was supposed to be at work.
“Was money moved?”
“No. The account was locked.”
I stood.
“Call police.”
Edith grabbed my arm.
“What?”
“If Jeremy is at the house accessing company systems, there may be evidence there right now.”
Lawrence was already dialing.
We drove toward Coral Gables.
Halfway there, my security application sent an alert.
SMOKE DETECTED — SECOND FLOOR.
Then another.
SMART HOME HUB OFFLINE.
I stared at the screen.
“No.”
Lawrence looked over.
“What?”
“The house.”
A second alert appeared.
FRONT DOOR FORCED OPEN.
I called 911.
By the time we turned onto Granada Terrace, smoke was rising above the trees.
Fire engines blocked the street.
Neighbors stood on sidewalks.
And my father's house—
the house Jeremy had mortgaged,
the house Edith had claimed,
May you like
the house holding documents that could prove everything—
was burning.
