Now the notice demanded that the vehicle be returned immediately because it was no longer properly insured under their names.
Chelsea’s breathing quickened.
She tore open the third envelope in a panic.
This one was a formal demand letter printed on the heavy letterhead of Fiona Cartwright’s law office.
It required immediate repayment of $65,000.
That was the money used for their house down payment.
They had always believed it was my gift to them.
But accountants do not give away money without paperwork.
I had recorded it as a loan payable on demand, signed by Logan three years earlier.
Chelsea released a muffled cry.
The front door flew open.
Logan appeared half-dressed for work, his tie hanging loose around his neck.
“Chels? What happened? I heard something break.”
Chelsea turned toward him, her normally polished, arrogant face twisted with pure terror.
She handed him the papers without saying a word.
Logan read them.
The color drained from his face.
In one second, he went from confident businessman to frightened little boy.
“Dad…” he whispered.
He pulled out his phone and called me.
It rang once, then went straight to voicemail.
I had blocked his number the night before.
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