Chapter 3 - The Ghost of Mapler Crest
The freezing rain of a December dawn beat against the windshield of my battered sedan as I sat parked across the street from 214 Maple Crest Lane. The grand, colonial-style house looked majestic and utterly untouchable against the grey morning sky. A large, bright blue "FOR SALE BY OWNER" sign stood proudly on the manicured front lawn, right beside a professional real estate agency placard.
They weren't wasting any time. Paige and Eleanor were moving fast, hoping to liquidate the property before the probate court even caught wind of any discrepancies.
My hands gripped the steering wheel so tightly my knuckles turned translucent. The ink on the family agreement I had signed was barely dry, a digital copy sitting in my mother's email inbox, waiting to be filed away by their pitbull attorney, Richard Vance. If I walked up those front steps right now, they could call the police for trespassing. They could have me arrested, drag me before a judge, and permanently invalidate any moral high ground I had.
Worse, if they caught wind of what I was looking for, that metal tin behind the recipes would be shredded, burned, and scattered to the winds before I could blink.
I needed an inside line. I needed someone who had access to the house, someone who didn't give a damn about Eleanor's social standing or Paige's threats.
My phone buzzed against the passenger seat, shattering the silence. It was a text message from an unknown number: “Checking in on you and Toby. Let me know if you need a safe harbor.”
Marcus.
My breath caught. Marcus Vance—no relation to the family’s slimy lawyer, thank God—was a senior structural engineer who had been hired a month ago to inspect the historic foundation of the Maple Crest house. During those long, agonizing weeks when I was chained to Nana's bedside, Marcus had been the only person to offer me a kind word, a warm cup of coffee, and a sympathetic smile in the kitchen. We had exchanged numbers just before he finished his contract.
Without giving myself time to second-guess, I hit call.
He answered on the second ring, his deep voice thick with morning sleep. "Hello?"
"Marcus," I breathed, my voice cracking. "I need your help. A life-or-death kind of help."
There was a sharp rustle of sheets on the other end, and instantly, all sleep vanished from his voice. "Nelly? What's wrong? Where are you?"
"I'm parked outside my mother's house," I whispered, glancing nervously toward the windows of 214 Maple Crest. "They threw us out last night. They tricked me into signing a relinquishment waiver. But Nana... Nana left me a true will. It’s hidden inside an old tin box in the kitchen pantry, behind her recipe cards. I can’t go inside without violating the agreement and getting arrested. But you... you still have your engineering master key pass code, don't you?"
Silence hung heavily over the line for three agonizing seconds.
"Nelly," Marcus said slowly, the gravity of his words settling over the connection. "If I use my contractor override code to let you into a property currently listed for private sale after you've signed a legal waiver... we are talking about serious corporate and legal trespassing charges. If your family finds out, they will destroy both of us."
"They've already destroyed me, Marcus," I replied, a tear finally breaking free and tracking down my cheek. "They took everything. If you don't help me, my son and I are going to starve on the streets while they cash out millions of dollars built on my grandmother's back."
May you like
A heavy sigh whistled through the speaker. Then, the sound of rustling fabric and heavy footsteps.
"Meet me at the side service entrance by the brick patio in ten minutes," Marcus said firmly. "Don't look at the security cameras. Keep your head down. I'm coming."
