The locksmith hesitated, adjusting his heavy tool belt as my father pointed aggressively at the lock of my front door. “Look, sir,” the locksmith said, his voice coming through the camera’s high-definition audio with absolute clarity. “You said you were the primary property manager, but the deed on the city registry lists a Clara Vance. I need her written authorization before I drill this lock.”
My mother, Eleanor, didn’t even hesitate. She reached into her leather folder, pulled out a forged power of attorney document with my name clumsily signed at the bottom, and pressed a crisp five-hundred-dollar bill into the man’s palm. “My daughter is currently in Paris, as we explained,” my mother said smoothly, her voice laced with practiced authority. “She asked us to prepare the unit for an urgent appraisal. Break the lock, please.”
Chloe stepped up beside them, adjusting her designer sunglasses and taking a slow sip of her iced matcha. “Hurry up, dad. The luxury residential agent from Back Bay Properties is parking down the street right now. If we list the Steinway piano with the apartment, we can easily pull two point four million.”
Inside my sterile hotel room ten minutes away, I sat calmly at the desk, watching the live feed stream directly onto my laptop. Every single frame was being mirrored and automatically uploaded to a secure cloud server managed by my corporate attorney, Sarah Jenkins.
I picked up my phone and dialed the direct line to the Boston Police Department’s grand larceny unit. Detective Miller, whom I had met with two days prior to submit my preemptive property protection report, answered on the second ring.
“Detective Miller,” I said, my voice completely steady, devoid of any anger or panic. “The breaking and entering of my Back Bay property is currently in progress. The unauthorized locksmith is drilling the lock now. The forged power of attorney has been presented, and the fraudulent realtor has just entered the lobby.”
“We’re three blocks away, Ms. Vance,” Detective Miller replied, the sound of a police cruiser’s engine roaring to life in the background. “Hold your position. Do not engage them alone.”
I closed my laptop, smoothed down the fabric of my tailored coat, and grabbed my apartment keys. “I won’t need to engage them, Detective,” I smiled coldly into the receiver. “Grandpa Arthur already set the board.”
To see the confrontation inside the apartment, continue reading below for Part 3.…
