Total pages in book: 107
Estimated words: 99748 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 499(@200wpm)___ 399(@250wpm)___ 332(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 99748 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 499(@200wpm)___ 399(@250wpm)___ 332(@300wpm)
Looking pleased with herself, she sits back down, turning her attention to Wren, who delicately explains that she needs the property records for Jed, Chrissy, Jed and Chrissy, and Ford Construction for the last thirty years, choosing her words with the legal ramifications in mind.
“Can you search for those in particular?” she asks Christiana, who’s already typing on her computer.
“Yeah, that’s an easy database search and public records. Do you want the ones currently held by them or ones held by them at any time?” she asks.
Wren’s eyes go sharp. “Any time.”
“Guessing you want me to verify them or something?” Maggie offers. She’s a smart cookie and pretty easily puts together what her role in this could be. When I nod, Maggie’s lips press together into a flat line. “I gotcha, whatever you need. I know you’d do the same for me.”
I absolutely would.
A few minutes later, Christiana has pages and pages of property information printed, and Maggie is starting to read through them. “What am I looking for?” she asks absently, reading each page.
Wren opens the manila folder she’s been holding and swallows thickly. “I need to compare that list to another one.”
“You wanna tell me why or what lists we’re comparing?” Maggie asks, feigning indifference.
Wren shakes her head and starts at the top. “3854 Allens Avenue.”
Maggie grabs a highlighter and runs a line through that address, the marker squeaking loudly. On and on, they do this, until Wren runs out of addresses.
“What about these other ones?” Maggie asks.
And that’s the answer she needed. There are properties that should be on the divorce decree but aren’t. “Can we look up the history of those individually?”
Maggie reads them out to Christiana, and she begins typing again. “That one sold in 2015. Next?”
That’s how several go, and then Christiana says something none of us expect. “Wait. You said 90888 Millview Street?” Maggie nods, and Christiana looks up. “Wren, you want to look at this?”
Pointing at the screen, her eyes are wide in shock. Wren gets up and goes around the desk to see what Christiana’s found. She reads the screen and huffs out an ironic laugh. “Jed, you are such a motherfucking asshole.”
“What?” I ask. “What is it?”
“The property,” she says deliberately. “It’s in Lucy Blivings’s name.”
A bomb might as well have gone off, because we’re all dead silent. “Seriously?” I echo. “Why would Jed do that? Putting property in Lucy’s name seems premature, right?”
Wren looks around the room, judging each person’s trustworthiness again before she speaks, still keeping it general enough to have plausible deniability if called on it. “Someone might do that to hide property so it’s not included in a divorce.”
The ramifications of that sink in. “Shiiiit, what do you want to do?”
Still thinking, she mutters under her breath, “I wonder if Lucy even knows?”
Maggie sighs heavily and reveals, “I’d bet not. He forged Chrissy’s signature once to set up an LLC, and when I questioned it, he told me to just do the notary stamp.” She slows down, making sure we understand how offensively bad this next part is. “Because it was ‘financial stuff above my head’ and ‘I shouldn’t worry.’” She rolls her eyes. “As if there was anything he ever did that was over my head. I swear, the man can’t add two plus two sometimes. But I didn’t do the notary then, and didn’t do the one a few months later to move the properties back into Jed’s name.”
“How do you know he did that, then?” I ask.
Maggie’s answer is simple. “I basically ran the company.”
Wren’s quiet for a long moment while Christiana and Maggie check the remaining properties. There are several that have legally and correctly sold to others, but there are five in Lucy’s name, all high-value properties.
I watch as Wren’s stress level climbs, her eyes going flinty and hard as she stares at the decree in her hand. Finally, when they’re done confirming ownership of all the properties, we look to Wren for guidance.
“I need to talk to Lucy,” she says finally.
I hold my hand up, ready to make her smile. “I have an idea for that.”
“Cupcakes or cookies?” Mom asks as soon as Wren and I walk through the door at the Bakery Box. Food, especially sweets, is her love language, so she instantly tries to feed us.
“Maybe later,” I tell Mom. “First, we wanted to talk to you about something.”
She grins maniacally and starts clapping. “Of course I’ll do the wedding cake. I’ve already been thinking about it. How about a twist on a hummingbird cake? I can do a rum soak on the pineapple and candy the pecans with cinnamon sugar. I think it’ll be perfect for you . . . a little sweet, a little sour, and a little spicy.”
My head drops, my chin hitting my chest as my eyes close. I cannot believe her. She’s gonna have us married before we get out on a real date with me picking Wren up, taking her to dinner, and back home. One large breath for calm and sanity, and I pin Mom with a glare. “Whatever’s going on in your head, shut that shit down. That’s not why we’re here.”