PART 3
The attorney didn’t sound surprised.
“I understand.”
Sarah folded her arms and laughed.
“Oh, please.”
She looked around at the guests.
“Who are you trying to impress now?”
Several relatives chuckled with her.
My uncle Daniel shook his head.
“Still pretending to be important.”
“She always does this,” my cousin Melissa whispered loudly enough for everyone to hear.
“Every family event has to become about Elena.”
I ignored them.
The attorney spoke again.
“Would you like me to proceed?”
“Yes.”
A tiny crease formed between my mother’s eyebrows.
“Proceed with what?”
I didn’t answer her.
Instead, I asked,
“Has the deed been officially transferred?”
“Not yet.”
“And the final registration?”
“Scheduled for tomorrow morning at nine.”
I closed my eyes for one brief second.
Perfect.
“Then stop everything.”
The attorney paused.
“To confirm…”
“I am instructing Vance & Howell Legal to suspend the transfer of the Vance Mansion.”
Several guests frowned.
Someone laughed nervously.
Sarah rolled her eyes.
“This is embarrassing.”
She looked toward the crowd.
“My sister watches too many courtroom dramas.”
A few people laughed.
The attorney continued.
“Understood.”
“Should I also notify the bank?”
“Yes.”
“And the restoration trust?”
“Immediately.”
My mother’s expression changed.
“What bank?”
“What trust?”
She stepped closer.
“What is she talking about?”
The attorney answered before I could.
“The Heritage Restoration Trust.”
Silence.
My grandfather’s oldest friend, Mr. Collins, frowned.
“I’ve heard of that.”
He looked toward me.
“They only finance historic properties.”
“Correct,” the attorney replied.
“They financed the reacquisition of the Vance Mansion.”
Sarah scoffed.
“Exactly.”
She spread her arms proudly.
“My project.”
The attorney hesitated.
“I’m sorry…”
His voice became noticeably confused.
“…who is speaking?”
“I’m Sarah Vance.”
“Oh.”
A pause.
“I’m afraid our records list only one client.”
Sarah smiled smugly.
“Yes, me.”
Another pause.
Then…
“No.”
The attorney spoke carefully.
“Our sole client has always been Ms. Elena Vance.”
The room froze.
Sarah stopped smiling.
“What?”
My mother laughed.
“A misunderstanding.”
“There must be another Elena.”
“There isn’t.”
The attorney’s voice remained perfectly composed.
“The purchase contract, escrow account, restoration financing, insurance policies, architectural approvals, and ownership documents have all been signed exclusively by Ms. Elena Grace Vance.”
No one breathed.
Sarah stared at me.
Then burst into laughter.
“No.”
She laughed harder.
“No.”
She pointed at me.
“Her?”
“Yes.”
“The unemployed single mother?”
Several heads slowly turned toward me.
My uncle looked confused.
“But…”
He turned to Sarah.
“You said you bought the house.”
Sarah opened her mouth.
Nothing came out.
The attorney continued.
“Ms. Elena requested complete confidentiality.”
“She specifically instructed us never to disclose her involvement unless legally necessary.”
Every guest looked back at me.
I hadn’t moved.
I was still kneeling beside Mia, gently rubbing her back.
My mother shook her head repeatedly.
“That’s impossible.”
The attorney asked politely,
“May I ask who is speaking?”
“I’m Margaret Vance.”
“The homeowner’s mother.”
“I’m afraid…”
Another pause.
“Our client instructed us not to discuss confidential financial matters with family members.”
Margaret’s face turned red.
“I’m her mother!”
“That does not alter attorney-client privilege.”
Several guests exchanged awkward glances.
Sarah suddenly grabbed the phone from my hand.
“This is ridiculous.”
She held it to her ear.
“I’m Sarah Vance.”
“I’ve handled every payment.”
“I supervised every contractor.”
“I approved every invoice.”
The attorney replied calmly.
“No.”
“You attended several meetings.”
“But only as a guest.”
Sarah’s smile disappeared.
“What?”
“Our records indicate that every invoice was paid from Ms. Elena’s investment account.”
My cousin Melissa frowned.
“Investment account?”
Sarah’s breathing became uneven.
“She’s lying.”
The attorney spoke again.
“We do not tolerate false statements regarding legal ownership.”
“I can provide copies of every wire transfer.”
“No!”
Sarah shouted so loudly several guests flinched.
“Don’t send anything!”
Too late.
The attorney had already emailed them.
My phone vibrated.
One email.
Forty-seven attached documents.
Purchase agreement.
Wire confirmations.
Bank statements.
Property tax receipts.
Insurance.
Architectural contracts.
Every single page carried one signature.
Mine.
Mr. Collins stepped forward.
“May I see them?”
I silently handed him the phone.
As the oldest surviving friend of my late grandfather, everyone trusted his judgment.
He adjusted his glasses.
Read the first page.
Then the second.
Then another.
His hands began trembling.
“My God…”
He whispered.
“It’s all real.”
The whispers spread through the ballroom.
“Elena bought the house?”
“I thought Sarah inherited money.”
“I donated fifty thousand dollars to Sarah’s restoration campaign.”
“So did I.”
“I volunteered every weekend.”
“I bought furniture.”
People started looking at Sarah differently.
Not with admiration.
With suspicion.
My mother still refused to believe it.
“No.”
She pointed at me.
“She has no money.”
I finally looked at her.
“Do you remember ten years ago…”
“When I left home?”
“You ran away.”
“I accepted a job in Singapore.”