Chapter 10
“No,” I said. “Neither of us signed it.”
Chloe’s breath caught, but she kept her eyes on the phone. “I didn’t sign it either.”
The lender representative thanked us and said she would add our denials to the file. She still couldn’t confirm that funding had been stopped. The Monday deadline sat in the room with us, invisible and heavy, while Blake watched my face as if he could make me take my answer back.
“Please send the dispute documents to the review address,” the representative said. “Include anything that supports your account.”
“I will,” I said. “And I’m asking again that you hold funding while you investigate.”
“I’ll note the request.”
The call ended. For a moment, nobody moved. My phone screen reflected the chandelier above Mom’s mantel, a bright blur over the evidence I’d collected: the travel notice, the messages, the lender’s pages.
The attorney leaned forward. “We can send a formal notice that neither co-owner authorized the use of the property.”
“Today,” I said.
“Today.”
Blake gave a short, humorless laugh. “A letter doesn’t change what the lender has.”
“No,” the attorney said. “It tells them what the owners dispute, and it puts the dispute in writing.”
Mom’s fingers tightened around the edge of her chair. “Can we not do this like enemies?”
I looked at her. “You’re asking me that while he’s trying to borrow against my home.”
“It’s not your home,” Blake snapped. “It’s the family cottage.”
“It belongs to Chloe and me.”
Chloe flinched at hearing her name, then straightened. “And I didn’t approve the authorization.”
Blake turned on her. “You sent me the form.”
“I did,” she said, voice shaking. “I sent you the old winterization form. I didn’t give you permission to use it as loan approval.”
“You knew the file was for the lender.”
“I didn’t know what you were doing with it.”
The attorney opened his laptop. “Chloe, if you’re willing, write exactly what you sent and what you knew. Nothing more, nothing less.”
Blake pushed back from the table. “This is unbelievable.”
“No,” Chloe said. “It’s overdue.”
She pulled a chair beside the attorney and took the blank paper he offered. Her hand trembled as she began, stopping twice to cross out a word and start again. I watched her struggle to tell the truth without dressing it up as innocence. When she finished, she read the statement aloud: she had sent Blake the old form at Mom’s request, then sent a clearer photo after he asked; she had not authorized the cottage as collateral and had never witnessed me approve the loan.
“I should have asked more questions,” she said, signing at the bottom. “That part is mine.”
She placed the page beside my phone. No apology could turn back the months or erase the image of my name beneath a false date. But she hadn’t hidden behind Mom or Blake this time. I felt the difference—and didn’t mistake it for forgiveness.
The attorney scanned Chloe’s statement while I opened the lender’s email. Ethan sat close enough that his sleeve touched mine. Together we attached the Richmond conference receipt and calendar record, the messages Chloe had forwarded, her signed statement, and the attorney’s notice.
My finger hovered above Send.
I could already hear Mom saying the complaint would split the family. I could imagine relatives who hadn’t read a single page deciding I’d done it to punish Chloe. The baby shifted softly beneath my palm, a small reminder that the people most affected by my choices would not always be the loudest ones in the room.
I pressed Send.
The message appeared in my sent folder. It did not mean the lender had paused anything. It did mean the dispute was on record, with both sisters’ words attached.
Blake’s phone buzzed. He glanced down, and his mouth tightened.
“What?” Chloe asked.
He turned his screen away. “Nothing.”
A moment later, my own phone began to vibrate. The extended family chat filled with a message from Blake: Ava is sabotaging Chloe’s wedding because she can’t stand not being in control.
Then came a second message, from an aunt who hadn’t called me in months. Then a cousin. Then my uncle, who asked whether I’d really “take the cottage away from everybody” over a paperwork misunderstanding.
Each vibration seemed to land against my ribs. Mom’s gaze found mine.
“One signature would make this disappear,” she said quietly. “Sign the authorization. Withdraw the complaint. We can work out the rest together.”
“Nothing disappears because I sign what you want,” I said.
Her eyes shone, but her voice hardened. “You’re choosing this over your sister.”
“No. I’m choosing not to lie about what I signed.”
For once, I didn’t add that I loved her. I didn’t soften the truth so she could keep believing I would eventually surrender.
Ethan touched my wrist. “You don’t have to read any more of it.”
I saved screenshots of the family messages, including Blake’s accusation, and added them to the evidence folder. Then I blocked the group chat. The silence that followed was sudden and almost physical.
Chloe stared at her signed statement. “They’re going to say I’m the one who did this.”
“They may,” I said.
“I deserve some of it.”
“Some,” I said. “Not all of it.”
She looked up. Her eyes were red, but she didn’t ask me to make it easier for her.
Ethan’s phone chimed.
He glanced at the screen, and the color drained from his face. After Blake appeared at the cottage, Ethan had put a small contact sensor on the rear door so we’d know if it opened. We had agreed it was only a warning, not a promise that the place was safe.
“What is it?” I asked.
May you like
He turned his phone toward me.
The alert read: Cottage—rear door opened. Live.
