Chapter 4

On the fourth day, I got a text from the forensic analysis center.

The fingerprint results were in.

I took a half-day off work to pick up the report.

The conclusion was just one line: [The submitted fingerprints do not match the ten-finger sample of Aubrey Summers.]

Those weren't my fingerprints. It was right there in black and white, stamped and certified.

I folded the report, tucked it into my folder, and took a deep breath.

The last piece of the puzzle.

When I got home, David's mother, Grace Foster, was there.

She came by once a month, and every time she did, she'd go through my fridge and complain that the groceries I bought weren't fresh enough.

Today, she was sitting on the couch peeling an orange, dropping the peels right on the coffee table I had just wiped down.

She didn't even look up. "Aubrey's back."

I greeted her. "Grace."

She raised an eyebrow. "Why have you been taking so many days off lately? Things not busy at work?"

I shrugged. "Year-end audits. I'm just using up some comp time."

She clicked her tongue. "Don't keep calling out. You know how many people would kill to get a job at a bank."

She popped an orange slice into her mouth. "Oh, by the way, David mentioned he wants to renovate the house after Christmas. What do you think?"

My hands froze. "Renovate?"

She nodded. "He said the wallpaper in the living room needs to go, and he wants to turn the study into—"

She paused for a second.

I pressed her. "Turn it into what?"

She glanced at me, and her expression shifted slightly. "A nursery." She cleared her throat. "You two should really start thinking about having kids."

A nursery? The deed didn't even have my name on it anymore, and they were already making plans to renovate?

To build a nursery?

For whose baby, exactly?

I looked at Grace, really studying her face for the first time.

She was avoiding my eyes, too afraid to meet my gaze. She knew. She knew everything.

I kept my voice casual. "Grace, the down payment on this house was 120 thousand. I sold my pre-marriage condo to cover it. You remember that, right?"

Her hands paused over the orange she was peeling. She said, "Yeah, I remember. Why?"

"No reason." I gave her a small smile and walked into the kitchen.

I turned on the faucet and let the water run full blast until it drowned out every other sound in the house. Then I leaned over the counter and pressed my forehead against the cold marble.

A hundred and twenty thousand dollars. My parents had saved for fifteen years to buy that condo. The day they handed me the deed, my dad said, "Aubrey, this is the best thing we'll ever be able to give you."

And now it was gone. Stolen by the people I trusted most, by his whole family.

I straightened up, turned off the water, and dried my hands.

Then I started cooking.

Tonight I was making David's favorite, slow-braised short ribs.

I'd let him enjoy it for a few more days.

After that, he'd never taste my cooking again.

*****

On Saturday morning, David said he had to go into the office.

He walked out the door wearing a brand-new puffer jacket.

I had never seen it before.

It was a dark-blue-branded jacket.

His monthly take-home was four thousand dollars, and this jacket cost at least three thousand dollars. When did he buy it?

After he closed the door, I sent Jessica a text.

I typed: [Everything's ready. I got the fingerprint analysis report back. They're not my prints.]

She replied instantly: [Perfect. List out every piece of evidence you have, and I'll help you build the chain.]

I sat down at my desk and spread the documents from the folder out, one by one.

The first was a search result from the county recorder's office, confirming that the property title had been transferred solely to David's name on October 15, 2025.

The second was a certified copy of a notarized affidavit, issued by a notary named Linda.

The third was a side-by-side comparison of the "Aubrey" signature on the affidavit and my actual handwriting. The stroke endings went in completely different directions.

The fourth was a forensic fingerprint report from the crime lab, confirming that the submitted prints did not match any of Aubrey's 10 fingerprints on file.

The fifth was my time-clock record from the bank. On October 14, 2025, I had clocked in at 8:27 a.m. and clocked out at 5:33 p.m. There was no way I could have been at Eastgate Notary Office at 10:20 that morning.

The sixth was a screenshot from David's Instagram, a Thanksgiving family photo from 2023. Linda was in the picture, which proved that she and David were related.

The seventh was a visitor log from the front desk at 1402 Maple Ridge Drive, showing that Sophie had signed in on October 14, 2025.

Jessica listened to everything on the other end of the line and went quiet for a few seconds. She said, "Aubrey, you did an incredible job."

I asked, "What's still missing from the chain?"

She said, "One thing. You need to prove that Linda and David's family connection goes beyond just a photo. A genealogy record or some kind of official family documentation would be ideal."

I said, "I can get that. David's grandfather's side of the family has genealogy records on file at the township office back in his hometown."

She asked, "How do you know that?"

I said, "The first year we were married, David took me home for Christmas. His dad brought me to the township office to see the family records and said he wanted me to get to know everyone in the family."

I paused for a moment. "He pointed to Linda's name on the family tree and told me she was David's cousin, a notary public. He said if we ever needed anything, we could go to her."

Jessica laughed on the other end of the line, but there was nothing funny about it. "Ironic, isn't it?"

"Yeah."

Jessica's tone shifted. "Aubrey, I've got the evidence organized for you. When are you going?"

"Next Monday."

Jessica paused. "To the courthouse?"

"No. The DA's office."

Jessica went quiet for two seconds. "You sure about this?"

"I'm sure. A notary helped forge legal documents. This isn't a civil dispute. I'm filing criminal charges. If I go the civil route, the most I get is the house back. But if I go criminal, Linda goes to prison."

Jessica took a deep breath. "Okay. I'm going with you."

I hung up and placed the seven files back into the folder in order, then snapped the clasp shut.

On the bookshelf to the right of my desk, there was a row of legal reference books.

David had never once opened any of them.

He didn't know I'd double-majored in law back in college.

And he had never bothered to ask.

To him, I was just a bank teller, a wife who was easy to fool, and a woman he could steal everything from.

He was wrong.