Chapter 4 - The Price of My Death
"ONE MILLION TWO HUNDRED THOUSAND DOLLARS?"
My voice echoed through the interview room.
Detective Ortiz remained seated across from me.
"That's the amount listed on the policy."
"But I never applied for life insurance!"
"That's what we're investigating."
I stared at the document.
My birth date.
My Social Security information.
My employment details.
Even my medical history.
Everything appeared correct.
Except the signature.
It wasn't mine.
The handwriting resembled mine, but the final letter had a strange upward curve.
I had never signed my name that way.
"Could Julian have done this without me knowing?"
Detective Ortiz's expression was grim.
"Someone appears to have used your personal information to submit the application. The insurer is cooperating with the investigation."
My stomach twisted.
For months, Julian had complained that we couldn't afford new furniture.
That groceries were too expensive.
That our rent was destroying his financial future.
Yet somewhere along the way, he had apparently found the time and resources to arrange a massive insurance policy on my life.
I remembered his insistence that I wear the necklace.
His anger when I refused.
His repeated question about whether I had worn it overnight.
I pressed my hands together.
"Detective, do you think he was trying to kill me?"
She didn't answer immediately.
"We have serious reasons to investigate that possibility."
The words were careful.
But the meaning was unmistakable.
My husband might have wanted me dead.
I thought of our wedding.
Julian had cried when I walked down the aisle.
He had held my grandmother's hands and promised to take care of me.
Grandma Clara had smiled at him.
Or at least, I had believed she was smiling.
Now I wondered whether she had seen something I hadn't.
After the interview, Tessa drove me to her apartment.
She lived in a quiet building about twenty minutes from our office.
"I've got clean towels and a spare bedroom," she said.
"I don't want to drag you into this."
She looked at me.
"Morgan, you're my best friend. You're not dragging me anywhere."
I hugged her.
For the first time that day, I felt something resembling safety.
That evening, Detective Ortiz called.
The insurance company had verified that a policy had been issued the previous month.
The contact information had been altered so correspondence would go to an address I didn't recognize.
The electronic records were being preserved.
The investigators were also reviewing a separate set of documents involving my grandmother's cottage.
I sat upright.
"What documents?"
"A proposed property transfer."
My mouth went dry.
"Julian doesn't own that cottage."
"We understand."
"It's in my name. Grandma left it to me."
"That's why we need you to speak with an attorney."
The following morning, a Wisconsin attorney named Marisol Chen joined us by video call.
She specialized in property disputes and fraud.
She had obtained copies of documents submitted in connection with a proposed sale of my cottage.
The listed purchaser was Pike Property Strategies.
Graham Pike's company.
The proposed sale price was $450,000.
Exactly the amount Julian had been urging me to accept.
Marisol displayed another page.
It purported to authorize Julian to act on my behalf in certain property transactions.
I stared at the signature.
Again, it resembled mine.
Again, it wasn't.
"That's forged."
Marisol nodded.
"We're moving to challenge it immediately."
The thought that Julian had not only planned something around my life but also prepared to steal my grandmother's home made me dizzy.
Then my phone rang.
Julian.
I let it go to voicemail.
A minute later, he sent a message.
You need to stop making trouble. Come home and we can settle this like adults.
I showed Tessa.
She shook her head.
"He's scared."
A second message appeared.
The cottage paperwork is already handled. You don't get to change your mind now.
Marisol called back shortly afterward.
Her voice had changed.
"Mrs. Avery, I've just received an updated filing notice."
"What does it say?"
"The closing has been scheduled for nine o'clock tomorrow morning."
I looked at the clock.
It was already past five.
Marisol continued.
"And unless we stop it, someone is preparing to transfer your grandmother's cottage without your consent."
I stared at Clara's photograph on Tessa's bookshelf.
Then another message appeared on my phone.
This one contained a photograph of the cottage.
The front porch.
The orchard.
The old wooden door.
May you like
Underneath were five words.
YOU SHOULD HAVE JUST SOLD.
