My father came back on the line.
‘Then why would he have documents?’
‘That,’ Trevor said, ‘is the question.’
He turned one page around so I could see it.
It was a purchase option.
The language was stiff and legal, but one thing stood out immediately:
Trevor’s name at the bottom in a signature that looked almost right if you had never seen him sign a check, a work order, a birthday card.
But I had.
Trevor’s T always leaned back slightly.
This one leaned forward.
His last name was too smooth.
Too careful.
I touched the edge of the paper.
‘He forged you.’
My mother made a strangled noise through the phone.
‘Don’t use that word.’
Trevor’s eyes did not leave mine.
‘It’s the word his lender used.’
The crying and shouting on the other end grew louder.
My father lowered his voice like volume could turn fraud into a misunderstanding.
‘Listen to me.
Victor says there was a verbal understanding.
He says Trevor backed out because he got jealous of the attention today.’
I almost laughed.
Jealous.
Trevor had spent the morning helping Earl fix the marina room’s broken outlet so our coffee urn would work.
He had carried the folding chairs my cousins were supposed to sit in.
He had stood at the altar in a tight suit and watched my family choose a country club over me without saying one bitter word.
Victor was the one who needed applause so badly he had built an engagement party around a lie.
Trevor picked up another paper.
‘Three weeks ago, two surveyors came to my gate with paperwork listing Victor’s company as buyer.
Earl sent them away.’
Earl stepped forward.
‘They told me Mr.
Victor said the owner was old and confused.’
My stomach turned.
Trevor was thirty-one.
Earl continued, his voice rougher now.
‘I called Trev because it didn’t smell right.
He checked the county records.
Then he checked with the title office.
That’s when the fake option surfaced.’
On the phone, my mother whispered something away from the receiver.
I could picture her perfectly: pearls at her throat, lipstick fresh, standing under a chandelier she had chosen over my wedding, trying to keep embarrassment from touching her dress.
‘Why didn’t you tell us?’ she demanded.
Trevor’s expression did not change.
‘You didn’t answer my calls.’
That stopped her.
I looked at him.
He had called them?
Trevor glanced at me, and regret flickered across his face.
‘I tried the week before the wedding.
Your dad said he was busy with Victor’s event.
Your mother texted that I should stop making the week about myself.’
The old pain opened in my chest, but this time something else stood beside it.
Clarity.
