Chapter 3 - THE ROOM GREGORY ERASED
Gregory refused to leave immediately.
He stood in Wendy’s kitchen while the last vendor rolled equipment across the terrace, speaking in a low voice with his attorney on the phone. His wedding jacket hung open. A pale band of skin marked the finger where he had removed a ring before Wendy arrived.
The sight of it hurt more than Wendy expected.
Not because she wanted him back.
Because it proved the ceremony had already begun in some private way before she entered.
Amelia advised Wendy not to argue with him.
“We need a written temporary arrangement,” she said. “You own the property through the trust, but he has established residence. You can request exclusive possession through the appropriate process, especially if there is evidence of financial abuse, but changing the locks tonight could damage your position.”
Wendy wanted to object.
Instead, she said, “Then he stays in the guesthouse.”
Gregory looked up from his call.
“I’m not being sent to the guesthouse like an employee.”
“You are not sleeping beside me.”
For a moment, the old Gregory appeared—the man who had once brought her soup when she worked through pneumonia, who remembered the anniversary of her grandmother’s death, who could make her laugh with one raised eyebrow.
Then his expression hardened.
“You froze operating accounts without consulting the board.”
“There is no independent board. It’s my company.”
“That sentence is the reason we are here.”
Wendy nearly answered, but Amelia touched her wrist.
Not now.
They drafted a temporary agreement. Gregory would remain in the detached guesthouse for forty-eight hours. He would not enter Wendy’s office, access company systems, or remove property except clothing and necessary personal items observed by a neutral third party. Isabella left with Celeste after collecting one suitcase from the guest room.
Richard left last.
At the gate, he turned toward Wendy.
“You think Gregory created this?”
“Are you suggesting you did?”
“I’m suggesting you don’t know your own family history.”
He walked away before she could stop him.
By midnight, the garden was empty.
Candle wax marked the stone. Flower petals floated in the pool. The abandoned wedding cake stood in the kitchen because no vendor wanted responsibility for taking food purchased through a disputed transaction.
Wendy sat alone at the marble table with the bottle of wine she had packed for Gregory.
She did not open it.
Her grandmother, Lucía Reyes, had raised Wendy in the Oakhill house after Wendy’s mother died. Lucía had believed in three things: paying debts, keeping original documents, and never letting someone else rush you into signing.
Wendy had failed at least one of those lessons.
Two years earlier, after a serious car accident left her with a fractured wrist and weeks of medication, she had signed a durable financial power of attorney naming Gregory as her agent. Amelia had warned her that the document was broader than necessary.
Wendy had dismissed the concern.
“He’s going to be my husband,” she had said.
She had not revoked it after recovering because it made travel easier. Gregory could approve vendors, speak to banks, and sign routine documents when Wendy was abroad.
Convenience had slowly replaced oversight.
And oversight, she now understood, had been the only wall protecting her.
At six the next morning, Amelia returned with a forensic accountant named Marcus Lee. They began reviewing the company portal from a clean laptop.
The first problem appeared immediately.
Gregory’s user account had accessed the internal server at 11:42 the previous night.
“That was after the written agreement,” Amelia said.
“Could it be an automated login?” Wendy asked.
Marcus shook his head.
“Multifactor authentication was completed from a device registered to him.”
The second problem was worse.
A folder containing vendor contracts, credit-card statements, and board resolutions had been permanently deleted.
Marcus began preserving system logs and creating forensic images of Wendy’s laptop. He explained that “permanently deleted” did not necessarily mean unrecoverable, but they should stop using affected machines.
Wendy went to the home office.
The door was unlocked.
Gregory had been prohibited from entering, yet a chair had been moved away from the desk. A drawer containing company seals stood open.
Inside, the corporate stamp was missing.
So was Lucía’s red leather trust binder.
Wendy crossed the yard to the guesthouse with Amelia behind her.
Gregory answered after the third knock. He was dressed but barefoot, as though he had not slept.
“Where is the trust binder?”
“I don’t have it.”
“The server shows you logged in.”
“My phone syncs automatically.”
“Not with multifactor authentication.”
He looked at Amelia.
“This conversation is over.”
Wendy stepped forward.
“Did you take my company seal?”
Gregory’s eyes flicked toward the guesthouse desk.
It lasted less than a second, but Amelia saw it too.
They did not force entry or search his belongings. Amelia called Gregory’s attorney and documented the suspected violation. She also contacted Officer Ruiz to supplement the earlier report.
As Wendy turned away, she noticed soil on the sole of Gregory’s bare foot.
Dark soil mixed with purple petals.
The kind found only beneath the jacaranda tree.
Wendy returned to the garden and examined the ground near the trunk.
One patch of earth had been disturbed recently.
Buried beneath a thin layer of soil was a waterproof document sleeve.
It was empty.
May you like
Inside the sleeve, written in her grandmother’s handwriting, were six words:
FOR SCHEDULE B—DO NOT TRUST RICHARD.
