The purchase agreement changed the entire timeline.
Until that moment, I had believed Cedar Ridge was the main objective.
It wasn't.
It was part of the appearance.
The real target was the warehouse property.
Megan's company was supposed to purchase it for $185,000.
The money would come from several private lenders, including the credit lines she had been arranging through family members.
My name was listed as guarantor.
The closing date was Monday.
Today was Friday.
That left almost no time.
Ramirez photographed every page.
“Do you know this property?”
I shook my head.
“No.”
Kevin studied the address.
“I've seen it.”
“Where?”
“Near the industrial district.”
“What happens there?”
“I thought it was empty.”
Ramirez looked at him.
“It hasn't been empty.”
“Who owns it?”
“A company connected to Arthur Bell.”
The room went quiet.
I stared at the agreement.
“So Megan's company was buying property from Arthur.”
“Apparently.”
“And she owed Daniel Voss.”
“Yes.”
“Was Daniel financing the purchase?”
“One of the listed lenders.”
I felt sick.
The transaction was circular.
Arthur had the property.
Megan's company would buy it.
Private lenders would provide the money.
Megan would use family credit to strengthen the application.
And whatever money entered the system could be moved again.
It wasn't a simple business.
It was a structure designed to move money through legitimate-looking transactions.
Ramirez looked at me.
“There's something else.”
He pointed to the seller's signature.
Arthur Bell.
Then the buyer's signature.
Megan Carter.
Then the guarantor.
Liam Carter.
Mine.
All three were connected.
But only one signature was real.
Mine wasn't.
“Why didn't the title company catch this?”
“They might have.”
“When?”
“Possibly during final verification.”
“So Megan was running out of time.”
“Yes.”
That explained the sudden urgency.
The apartment.
The guests.
The pressure.
The threats.
She needed access before the final verification process exposed the forged documents.
I remembered her last message.
Stop talking to people.
You don't understand what you've done.
She hadn't been afraid of losing a weekend.
She had been afraid the entire transaction would collapse.
Dad arrived at the station.
I showed him the agreement.
He read it slowly.
Then he looked at me.
“She used your name for all of this.”
“Yes.”
“I don't know how to apologize.”
“You don't need to.”
“I should have protected you.”
“You couldn't have known.”
He shook his head.
“I knew enough.”
That sentence hurt.
He had known Megan was asking for information.
Mom had known.
I had been the only person outside the scheme.
I didn't say that.
Not yet.
Ramirez received another call.
He stepped outside.
When he returned, his expression was serious.
“The title company has been contacted.”
“By whom?”
“Megan.”
“When?”
“Thirty minutes ago.”
My heart tightened.
“What did she say?”
“She claimed the guarantor documents were legitimate.”
I stared at him.
“Can she do that?”
“She can claim anything.”
“What happens now?”
“They've frozen the closing pending verification.”
I exhaled.
“So Monday is canceled.”
“Not necessarily.”
“What do you mean?”
“If the documents can be verified before then, the transaction could proceed.”
I looked at the forged signature.
“No one can verify that.”
“They can if someone impersonates you.”
That possibility made my skin crawl.
“You think she might try?”
“We're preparing for it.”
I sat down.
Then my phone rang.
Unknown number.
I answered.
“Hello?”
A woman's voice.
“Mr. Carter, this is Elena from the title company.”
“Yes.”
“We need to confirm whether you are the guarantor on the warehouse purchase.”
“No.”
She paused.
“I understand.”
“I have never agreed to this transaction.”
“Thank you for confirming.”
“Did someone claim otherwise?”
“Yes.”
“Who?”
“I can't discuss the parties while the investigation is active.”
I understood.
“Please do not accept any documents from anyone claiming to represent me.”
“We won't.”
She ended the call.
Ramirez looked relieved.
“One less problem.”
Then his phone rang.
He answered.
His face changed.
“What?”
He listened.
“Where?”
He grabbed his jacket.
“I'm coming.”
I stood.
“What happened?”
“The warehouse.”
“What about it?”
“There was a fire.”
My stomach dropped.
“When?”
“Twenty minutes ago.”
We drove there.
The warehouse was surrounded by emergency vehicles.
Smoke drifted above the roof.
Firefighters moved in and out.
The building looked almost exactly like the photograph Ramirez had shown me.
But now one side was blackened.
I stared at it through the windshield.
“Was anyone inside?”
“No.”
“Did anything survive?”
“We don't know.”
The fire captain met Ramirez.
They spoke quietly.
Then Ramirez returned.
“The fire started in the records area.”
I looked at him.
“Records?”
“Yes.”
“That doesn't sound accidental.”
“We're not making that determination yet.”
But we both knew what the timing suggested.
The purchase documents.
The investigation.
The recovered evidence.
The warehouse.
Now a fire.
Someone was destroying records.
Ramirez looked toward the building.
“We need to know what was stored here.”
I remembered the boxes in the storage unit.
The original documents.
The company records.
The warehouse files.
The evidence chain.
Then Kevin said something.
“Liam.”
“What?”
“The warehouse address.”
I looked at him.
“It's the same address on the storage records.”
My stomach tightened.
“What?”
“The address where the boxes were supposed to be delivered.”
I looked at Ramirez.
He immediately understood.
The storage unit had been temporary.
The warehouse was the destination.
Megan had been moving records there before the closing.
The fire might have destroyed the evidence she couldn't remove.
Or someone else's.
We waited until investigators cleared the area.
Near midnight, Ramirez returned.
“We found a secondary office.”
“Was it damaged?”
“Partially.”
“Anything inside?”
“A computer.”
“Working?”
“Possibly.”
He looked at me.
“The system contains a security recording from the night before the fire.”
“Of what?”
“Someone entering the building.”
“Who?”
“We're trying to identify him.”
He paused.
“But the clothing matches Daniel Voss.”
My stomach tightened.
“So Daniel started the fire?”
“I said the clothing matches.”
Right.
Facts.
Not conclusions.
Then Ramirez added, “The recording also shows Megan.”
I stared at him.
“What was she doing there?”
“Meeting him.”
“When?”
“Three hours before the fire.”
I looked toward the burning warehouse.
“What were they discussing?”
“We don't know.”
“Was there audio?”
“Yes.”
Ramirez looked uncomfortable.
“We're reviewing it now.”
Then he played a short section.
Megan's voice came through the speaker.
“I have his documents.”
A man's voice answered.
“Then you have what we need.”
I felt cold.
“What documents?”
Megan answered.
“Liam's originals.”
The recording ended.
I looked at Ramirez.
My original documents had been in the storage unit.
Megan had taken them.
She had given them to Daniel.
And now the warehouse was burning.
The next question came naturally.
“Why does Daniel need my documents?”
Ramirez didn't answer.
Because neither of us knew.
Yet.
Click here to continue reading: PART 11: Daniel Wanted My Documents for a Reason That Had Nothing to Do With the Apartment, and the Answer Reached Back to My Family’s Oldest Secret
One Casual Text Turned Into a Family Demand I Had Never Agreed To, and I Realized Too Late That My Apartment Was Only the Beginning
Part 10 of 20
