Chapter 3 - THE MISTRESS WHO KNEW MY FLOOR PLAN
Vanessa Cole had sold us the house through a brokerage called Ashford Residential.
She was thirty-two, stylish, relentlessly cheerful, and extraordinarily attentive during the purchase.
She remembered my favorite coffee.
She knew I wanted a reading nook.
She had personally arranged for the sellers to leave the old oak dining table because I loved it.
At the time, I'd told Adrien she was the best real estate agent we'd ever met.
He had smiled.
Now I wondered whether they'd laughed about that later.
***
Rebecca and I met in her office that afternoon.
She spread the documents across a conference table.
“The house is jointly titled,” she said. “The source of the down payment may be important, but we need to establish exactly how the funds were transferred and whether there was a gift agreement.”
I nodded.
“Mom gave the money to me.”
“Then let's find the documentation.”
I opened my laptop.
There it was.
An email from my mother.
For your home, sweetheart. Dad would have wanted you to have a place of your own.
Attached was the transfer confirmation.
Rebecca read it.
“Keep this.”
Then she examined the suspicious payments.
“A. Monroe Consulting?”
“I've never heard of it.”
“Have you asked Adrien?”
“No.”
“Good.”
She made a note.
“We'll investigate through lawful records and discovery if necessary.”
I hesitated.
“Rebecca?”
“Yes?”
“What if Vanessa isn't just his mistress?”
She looked up.
“What do you mean?”
I showed her the closing documents.
Vanessa had handled the transaction.
She knew our financial situation.
She knew the down payment amount.
She knew my mother's health had been declining.
And she knew exactly when I would be away from the house.
Rebecca studied the documents.
Then said:
“We need to find out whether she had a conflict of interest or made any improper representations. But let's not assume fraud without evidence.”
I nodded.
I wanted to be angry.
Anger felt easier than uncertainty.
***
That evening, Adrien called.
I let it ring twice.
Then answered.
“Hey,” he said warmly. “How's Evelyn?”
“Recovering.”
“Good. Good.”
A pause.
“Are you coming home tonight?”
I stared at the wall.
“Why?”
He laughed lightly.
“Because I miss my wife?”
The lie was so effortless that I almost admired it.
“I'm staying near the hospital.”
“Oh.”
He sounded relieved.
Then covered it.
“Of course. That's probably best.”
I closed my eyes.
“Adrien?”
“Yeah?”
“Has anyone been in the house?”
Silence.
Only a second.
But I heard it.
“What do you mean?”
“Anyone staying there?”
He laughed.
“No. Why?”
I looked at the video saved on my laptop.
“No reason.”
Then I hung up.
***
At 9:30 p.m., I received an email from our homeowners' insurance company.
REQUEST TO UPDATE HOUSEHOLD OCCUPANCY INFORMATION.
The request had been submitted that afternoon.
By Adrien.
He had listed Vanessa Cole as an additional adult resident.
I stared.
Then forwarded it to Rebecca.
Her response came ten minutes later.
Don't respond yet. Save the original email and attachments.
I leaned back.
Adrien wasn't merely having an affair.
He was establishing Vanessa as a resident.
Carefully.
Deliberately.
Like a man preparing for an argument he expected to win.
***
The next morning, I drove past the house.
I didn't stop.
I simply turned onto our street.
The blue Craftsman stood beneath the maple trees.
The porch looked exactly as I'd left it.
Except for one thing.
My mother's rocking chair was gone.
The chair she'd given us after closing.
The chair my father had built with his own hands.
In its place stood two modern white loungers.
Vanessa's style.
Not mine.
I pulled over three houses away.
My hands tightened around the steering wheel.
Then the front door opened.
Vanessa stepped outside wearing my cream-colored cardigan.
She carried a coffee mug.
My coffee mug.
The one with a chipped blue handle.
She smiled at something behind her.
Adrien appeared.
He wrapped an arm around her waist.
And kissed her.
In broad daylight.
On the porch I had paid for.
I took a photograph.
Then another.
And drove away before either of them saw me.
For the first time, I didn't cry.
I called Rebecca.
“I want my house back.”
She was quiet for a moment.
May you like
Then said:
“Let's start by making sure you don't lose it.”
