Chapter 6 - What Mason Knew
By noon, we had an attorney.
Not because I wanted a war.
Because Mason clearly believed one had already begun.
Daniel’s estate attorney, Margaret Ellis, was sixty-eight and had the permanent expression of a woman unimpressed by emergencies.
She listened to the story without interrupting.
When I finished, she looked at Sophie.
“Did your husband ever see the trust document?”
“Not that I know of.”
“Did he know Helen remains trustee until you’re thirty-five?”
“I told him eventually.”
“When?”
“Maybe two months after we started dating.”
Margaret wrote something down.
“Did he ask what happens if Helen dies?”
Sophie swallowed.
“Yes.”
I looked at her.
“When?”
“Before the wedding.”
“And you didn’t tell me?”
“I didn’t think it mattered.”
Margaret remained calm.
“What did you tell him?”
“That Aunt Linda would become trustee.”
My sister lived in Arizona.
Margaret nodded.
“That’s correct.”
“What happens if I’m declared incapable?” Sophie asked.
“Your beneficial interest doesn’t disappear.”
“Mason said—”
“I heard what he said. The problem is not that he automatically receives your trust. He does not. The problem is that an appointed guardian or someone holding a valid power of attorney might try to make requests on your behalf.”
Sophie pressed her hands together.
“Could Mason?”
“Possibly. Depending on what you signed.”
Rachel sat beside her.
Margaret turned to me.
“Do you still have the original trust documents?”
“In the bank box.”
“Good.”
Then she looked back at Sophie.
“I want copies of every document from the hospital.”
We called.
The hospital portal contained forms Sophie remembered signing.
Consent to treatment.
Release of records.
Insurance.
Nothing obvious.
Then Margaret asked the clerk to check whether anyone had submitted additional documentation after discharge.
There had been one.
A durable medical power of attorney.
Uploaded four days after Ava was born.
Sophie stopped speaking.
Margaret asked for a copy.
Twenty minutes later, it arrived.
The signature looked like Sophie’s.
She stared at it.
“That is not what I signed.”
“You recognize the signature?”
“Yes. It’s mine.”
“But not the document?”
“No.”
Margaret enlarged the scanned pages.
The signature page looked cleaner than the others.
Different paper texture.
Different alignment.
Someone may have attached an actual signature from another document.
Margaret did not claim forgery immediately.
She said one sentence instead.
“We preserve everything.”
Detective Cavanaugh joined us by phone.
When Margaret described the document, he asked for permission to obtain hospital records directly.
Sophie agreed.
Then he gave us news.
Riverside Storage had provided the renter information under an emergency preservation request while a warrant application was being reviewed.
Unit 317 was rented under the name David Reed.
Not D. Reed.
David.
The identification used to open the account had been reported stolen three years earlier.
The real David Reed lived in Ohio.
He had no known connection to Mason.
“Payment?” Margaret asked.
“Prepaid card.”
“Camera footage?”
“Being preserved.”
Sophie rubbed both hands over her face.
“So Mason creates a fake identity, rents a locker, keeps pictures of me, and hides the key under our refrigerator?”
Cavanaugh answered carefully.
“We don’t yet know who rented it.”
“We know.”
“We suspect.”
“I know.”
“I understand.”
“No, you don’t.”
She stood.
“I slept next to him.”
Rachel lowered her eyes.
Sophie’s voice broke.
“He was there when Ava kicked for the first time. He cried.”
That silence was worse than shouting.
“I thought...” Sophie pressed a fist against her mouth.
I got up.
She backed away from me.
“Don’t.”
I stopped.
“I don’t want anyone touching me.”
That hurt.
But it was not about me.
She began pacing.
“He cried when we heard the heartbeat.”
Rachel whispered, “People like him can feel things.”
Sophie looked at her.
“What?”
“They’re not empty every second. That’s what makes it confusing.”
Sophie said nothing.
Rachel continued carefully.
“Mason loved being loved. He loved being needed. He may even have loved parts of me. That didn’t stop him from using me.”
I watched Sophie absorb that.
It would have been easier if Mason had been a monster every minute.
Monsters are easier to leave.
The person who held your hand while you vomited from morning sickness and then used your signature against you was harder to fit inside the mind.
Margaret’s phone buzzed.
She checked the message.
Then looked at me.
“Helen, I need to ask something about the trust.”
“What?”
“Did Mason ever request money directly from you?”
“No.”
“You’re sure?”
“Yes.”
She turned her screen.
There was an email.
It appeared to have been sent from my address three months earlier.
To a private lending company.
The message discussed a proposed $450,000 loan secured by assets associated with the Carter Family Trust.
My name was signed at the bottom.
I had never written it.
“That’s fake.”
Margaret nodded.
“Fortunately, they contacted me for verification and received no response.”
“I never knew.”
“I didn’t either. It went to an old office address first.”
Sophie stared.
“What was the money for?”
Margaret scrolled.
“Investment in a company called Northstar Residential Partners.”
Rachel made a choking sound.
Everyone looked at her.
She stood so quickly her chair tipped.
“No.”
“What?” Sophie asked.
May you like
Rachel’s eyes were fixed on the screen.
“Mason used that name with me.”
