Officer Davis was quiet.
Then he said:
“There’s another issue.”
“What?”
“The keypad code.”
I closed my eyes.
“What about it?”
“The code he entered.”
“Yes?”
“It appears to be a valid administrator code.”
My eyes opened.
“Administrator?”
“Yes.”
“How many people have administrator access?”
“One primary account owner and any additional users you authorize.”
“I never authorized him.”
Officer Davis paused.
“That’s what concerns us.”
Rachel slowly sat down.
“What?”
I looked at her.
“The police say Mark’s code is an administrator code.”
Rachel stared at me.
“But you said you never gave it to him.”
“I didn’t.”
“Then who did?”
I didn’t know.
Not yet.
But I had a suspicion.
A terrible one.
My contractor.
I had hired him three days before closing to install the security system.
His name was Dennis.
Dennis had been recommended by my realtor.
He had told me the system would be installed within a few hours.
He had asked me to create a temporary access code.
I remembered standing in the kitchen while he worked.
He had said:
“Don’t worry. I’ll delete my access when I’m finished.”
I hadn’t thought much about it.
I had been exhausted.
Divorce.
Moving.
Paperwork.
Closing.
Everything had happened so quickly.
Maybe Dennis hadn’t deleted his access.
Maybe he had given it to someone.
Maybe Mark had somehow obtained it.
But why?
My phone buzzed.
A new notification appeared.
Administrator access modified.
I stared at it.
The notification showed the exact time.
9:52 that morning.
Twenty-two minutes before I saw the moving truck.
Rachel looked at me.
“What does that mean?”
I opened the security app.
There was a new administrator.
A name appeared on the screen.
Dennis Cole.
My contractor.
I felt something cold move through my chest.
“That’s him.”
“Who?”
“The contractor.”
Rachel took my phone.
“Why would he still have access?”
“I don’t know.”
She scrolled.
Then she froze.
“Judith.”
“What?”
“Look at the device history.”
I leaned over.
There was Dennis’s phone.
But beneath it was another device.
A device that had accessed the security system earlier that morning.
The name registered to it was:
M. ROWE.
Mark Rowe.
My ex-husband.
Rachel looked at me.
“He didn’t just know your code.”
“No.”
“He has access to the entire security system.”
I nodded slowly.
“And someone gave it to him.”
At that exact moment, Officer Davis called again.
“Ma’am, we need to talk.”
“What happened?”
“Your ex-husband has agreed to leave the property temporarily.”
I exhaled.
“Good.”
“But he made another claim.”
“What claim?”
“He says he didn’t break into your house.”
“I know.”
“He says someone gave him permission.”
“Who?”
There was a pause.
“Your realtor.”
My heart stopped.
“My realtor?”
“Yes.”
“What’s her name?”
“Karen Mitchell.”
Rachel and I stared at each other.
Karen.
The woman who had helped me find the house.
The woman who had told me, “This place can be your fresh start.”
The woman who knew exactly when I closed.
The woman who knew the address.
The woman who knew the house layout.
The woman who knew the security system installer.
The woman who had told me she would keep the purchase private.
And the woman I had trusted completely.
“No,” I whispered.
Rachel looked at me.
“What?”
“I can’t believe she would do this.”
Officer Davis continued.
“There’s something else.”
“What?”
“Your ex-husband says Karen gave him a copy of the closing file.”
My stomach turned.
“What closing file?”
“Your purchase documents.”
“That is confidential.”
“I understand.”
“He shouldn’t have them.”
“That’s what we’re trying to establish.”
I looked back at the security camera.
Mark and Vanessa were loading their belongings back into the truck.
They were leaving.
But Mark didn’t look defeated.
He looked calm.
Almost amused.
Then he looked directly toward the camera.
He smiled.
And raised one hand.
Not a wave.
He pointed.
Straight at the camera.
My heart sank.
He knew I was watching.
He knew I had seen everything.
Then his lips moved.
Even without audio, I understood the words.
You should have called me.
I stared at the screen.
Rachel whispered:
“What did he say?”
I didn’t answer.
Because suddenly I realized something.
Mark hadn’t come to steal my house.
If he had simply wanted money, he could have taken furniture.
If he wanted revenge, he could have damaged the property.
But he had brought his own furniture.
His clothes.
His television.
His kitchen supplies.
Even boxes containing my personal belongings.
He had planned to live there.
Which meant he believed he had some kind of right to my house.
And if Karen had given him my closing documents…
If Dennis had given him access…
Then this wasn’t something Mark had planned alone.
There were other people involved.
I called Karen.
She didn’t answer.
I called again.
Straight to voicemail.
Then I called Dennis.
His phone was disconnected.
Rachel stared at me.
“That’s not a coincidence.”
“No.”
I opened my email.
I searched for every message from Karen.
There were dozens.
House listings.
Inspection reports.
Closing reminders.
Mortgage paperwork.
Messages about contractors.
Then I found something.
An email sent six days before my closing.
The subject line was:
FINAL PROPERTY DOCUMENTS — JUDITH
I opened it.
The email contained an attachment.
I had never noticed it before.
It was a PDF.
I opened it.
My face went pale.
It wasn’t the deed.
It wasn’t the purchase agreement.
It was a document titled:
RESIDENTIAL OCCUPANCY AND PROPERTY ACCESS AGREEMENT
Rachel read over my shoulder.
“What’s that?”
“I don’t know.”
I scrolled.
My name was printed at the top.
So was Mark’s.
The document claimed that I had agreed to provide Mark with temporary occupancy rights to the house for a period of eighteen months.
I stared at the signature.
It looked like mine.
Almost exactly.
But it wasn’t.
“I didn’t sign this.”
Rachel pointed.
“Look at the date.”
I looked.
The agreement was dated three days before I closed.
Three days before I even had the keys.
Three days before the deed was recorded.
My hands began shaking.
Then I saw the final page.
There were three names.
My name.
Mark’s name.
And Karen Mitchell’s name.
Karen had signed as a witness.
Rachel whispered:
“This is forgery.”
I didn’t respond.
Because there was one more detail.
At the bottom of the page was a handwritten note.
Access code to be provided after closing.
And beneath it was a four-digit number.
The exact code Mark had used.
I stared at those numbers.
Four numbers.
The same four numbers I had chosen because they represented a date only I knew.
A date from my marriage.
A date I had never told Karen.
A date Mark would know.
Rachel slowly looked at me.
“Judith…”
I felt sick.
“What?”
“You said that date was something only you and Mark knew.”
“Yes.”
“Then maybe he didn’t need Karen to guess it.”
I looked at the document again.
My mind was racing.
Maybe Mark had known the code because he knew me.
Maybe Karen had simply given him access.
Maybe Dennis had installed the system.
Maybe all three had coordinated.
But then another possibility hit me.
What if the code wasn’t the only thing they had?
What if they had access to something else?
My bank account?
My closing funds?
My personal documents?
My identity?
I opened my banking app.
Everything looked normal.
Then I checked my email.
There was a security alert.
New device signed into your account.
My blood ran cold.
The login had happened at 9:47 that morning.
Five minutes before the security system administrator was changed.
The location?
My new house.
Rachel stood behind me.
“Someone was using your accounts from inside your house.”
I nodded.
And then I saw the device name.
It wasn’t Mark’s phone.
It wasn’t Dennis’s.
It wasn’t Karen’s.
It was an iPad.
A device I recognized.
My old iPad.
The one I had given to Mark during our marriage because he said he needed it for work.
I had forgotten about it.
Until that moment.
I had never changed the password.
Mark still had it.
I sat down.
For the first time that morning, I wasn’t angry.
I was terrified.
Because this was no longer about an ex-husband moving furniture into my house.
Someone had potentially accessed my private accounts.
Someone had obtained confidential documents.
Someone had created a fraudulent agreement.
Someone had gained access to my home.
And someone had apparently been planning all of it before I ever turned the key in the front door.
Then my phone buzzed again.
A text message.
Unknown number.
Only six words.
You should ask your sister about it.
I stared at the message.
Rachel saw my face change.
“What happened?”
