Chapter 4 – THE BUYER WHO WASN’T SUPPOSED TO EXIST

Bianca took one look at the receipt and shook her head.

“That doesn’t mean the house has been sold.”

Marco held it beneath the kitchen light.

“I didn’t ask whether it was sold. I asked why a buyer was invited inside.”

“A development company expressed interest. I agreed to let them inspect the property.”

“Without telling either owner?”

“I was going to tell you when there was something worth discussing.”

Anna stood by the counter, still holding her mother’s recipe tin.

“Did you think I’d agree to sell?”

Bianca looked at her.

“I thought you might appreciate what the money could do for you.”

Anna gave a tired smile.

“You keep telling me what’s good for me. Have you ever asked what I want?”

For once, Bianca had no quick answer.

Marco examined the receipt again.

“Westbridge Development,” he read.

The name meant nothing to me.

But the words beside it did.

Preliminary acquisition review.

I had spent nearly two years managing household deliveries and working with contractors. I knew the difference between preparing a building for repairs and preparing it for someone else to take possession.

Marco seemed to understand it too.

“How long have you been talking to Westbridge?”

“A few months.”

“Since before you visited Anna’s apartment?”

Bianca looked away.

That was answer enough.

Anna placed the recipe tin on the counter.

“You came to my apartment with those papers in October. You told me they were about protecting Marco from a financial mistake I’d made years ago.”

“I was trying to find a solution.”

“To what?”

“The house. The expenses. The fact that neither of you can make a practical decision about it.”

Marco folded the receipt carefully.

“You’re going to stop using my sister’s sobriety as an explanation for your decisions.”

Bianca’s eyes flashed.

“And you’re going to stop pretending she wasn’t difficult to help.”

The words struck harder because there was some truth behind them.

Anna looked at her brother.

“I was difficult.”

“Annie—”

“I was. I lied. I missed birthdays. I made promises I couldn’t keep. You don’t have to pretend that never happened.”

Marco’s expression softened.

“But it happened ten years ago.”

“Yes,” she said. “And I’ve spent every day since trying to live differently.”

She looked back at Bianca.

“That’s why what you did hurts. You found something I was ashamed of, and you made it the only thing anybody was allowed to see.”

Bianca pressed her fingertips against her forehead.

“I didn’t intend for things to become this ugly.”

“But you did intend to get me to sign.”

Silence.

Then Marco asked, “Where’s the storage inventory?”

Bianca looked toward the empty kitchen.

“In my office.”

“Can you access it tonight?”

“Yes.”

“Then we’re going back to the mansion.”

Anna shook her head.

“Not yet.”

She walked into the front room.

Marco followed, and I went with them.

The space had been almost completely cleared. Bare wooden floors showed the outlines of old rugs, and a strip of darker wallpaper remained behind the fireplace.

Anna stood where the bookshelves had once been.

“When Mom got sick, she couldn’t stand for very long,” she said. “So I’d come over on Sundays and read to her.”

Marco leaned against the doorway.

“She never told me that.”

“She said you had enough to worry about.”

Anna smiled faintly.

“She liked mysteries. Terrible ones. She always guessed who did it before the halfway point.”

Marco laughed.

“Dad used to complain she was ruining them.”

“She’d tell him to read faster.”

For a few seconds, they were laughing together.

It wasn’t much.

But it was the first time all evening that Anna looked comfortable beside him.

Then she noticed something beneath the window.

A strip of masking tape marked the floor.

I bent to read the handwriting.

Retain existing cabinet — owner request.

“There was a built-in cabinet here,” Anna said.

Marco nodded.

“Mom kept the good dishes in it.”

“But why does this say retain?”

Bianca came to the doorway.

“Because I told the workers not to destroy anything that could be restored.”

Anna turned.

“You saved the cabinet?”

“It’s at the restoration shop.”

“And the books?”

Bianca hesitated.

“Some were damaged beyond repair. But the contractor set aside several boxes before the rest were removed.”

Anna looked at her sharply.

“Where?”

“An upstairs room. They weren’t collected.”

Marco headed for the staircase.

We followed him.

In the former sewing room, beneath a dust sheet, stood four cardboard boxes.

Anna opened the first.

Books.

Not hundreds.

Perhaps forty or fifty altogether.

But there were books.

She lifted a worn copy of Little Women and opened the cover.

Inside was a faded blue stamp.

Anna pressed her fingers against the name.

“Mom bought that stamp when I was eleven.”

She turned another page.

Her mother’s handwriting filled the margin.

For Anna, when she’s old enough to understand that being brave doesn’t mean never being afraid.

Marco looked over her shoulder.

His eyes closed briefly.

Bianca stood quietly beside the door.

“I told them to keep what they could,” she said.

Anna didn’t thank her.

But she didn’t accuse her of lying either.

That small acknowledgment seemed to matter.

Later, as Marco carried the boxes toward the stairs, I noticed another sheet beneath the dust cover.

It was a payment summary from the company handling the proposed redevelopment.

I held it closer to the light.

The property’s address appeared at the top.

Beneath it was a line marked:

The payment had been issued six weeks earlier.

I showed Marco.

He read it twice.

“Bianca.”

She turned.

“Who received ninety-five thousand dollars?”

Her face drained.

Marco held up the page.

“Someone has already been paid for this house. I want to know who took the money.”

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