My head throbbed. The morning light crept through the living room windows, making Julian’s calm demeanor even more horrifying. He watched me, still smiling faintly, as if enjoying a private joke.
I needed to get out of there. I needed to show this to Sam and Tessa.
“I need to use the bathroom,” I said, my voice tight. “Alone.”
Julian nodded slowly, his eyes narrowing slightly, but he didn’t object. “Of course. Take your time.”
I walked down the hallway, my legs feeling like lead, and slipped into the small, sterile guest bathroom. The porcelain sink gleamed under the fluorescent light. I locked the door, then fumbled for my phone to call Tessa.
But then I remembered the vault. The tracking logs. I hesitated. Julian had been tracking us for years. He knew where we were. He knew who we talked to.
My phone felt cold in my hand. I slipped it into the pocket of my jeans.
Instead, I tiptoed to the door connecting the bathroom to the bedroom where Sam and Tessa were sleeping. I knocked softly, a barely audible rap.
Seconds later, Tessa’s sleepy voice came through. “Maya? Is everything okay?”
“No,” I whispered, my voice urgent. “Open the door. Quietly.”
The click of the lock was muffled, and the door swung inward. Tessa’s eyes, still heavy with sleep, widened when she saw my face. Sam was already sitting up in bed, rubbing his eyes.
I held up the legal document Julian had given me, my hand shaking.
“Look at this,” I breathed, pushing the papers into Tessa’s hands. “Julian says I signed over management of everything. My mother’s estate. My savings. It has my signature.”
Tessa’s eyes scanned the document, her brow furrowing. Sam leaned over her shoulder, his expression hardening as he read.
“This can’t be real,” Sam growled, his voice low. “You never signed anything like this.”
“I didn’t!” I insisted, my voice cracking. “But he’s so calm. He drained my bank account. All $85,000 is gone.”
Tessa finished reading, her face pale. She flipped through the pages, examining the fine print.
“Wait a minute,” she said, her finger tracing a faint indent near the bottom of one page. “There’s a notary stamp here. Arthur Pendelton. Denver.”
She looked up at me, a flicker of fear in her eyes. “This feels… too official for a simple forgery. How would he get a notary to sign off on something you didn’t consent to?”
Suddenly, Tessa reached for my purse, which I had dropped on the bathroom counter.
“Let me just check something,” she mumbled, rummaging through its contents. Her fingers worked quickly, feeling along the seams of the fabric lining.
Then she froze. Her hand went still inside the bag.
She pulled out a tiny, black metallic rectangle, no bigger than my thumb. It was professionally sewn into a small, almost invisible pocket in the lining. A small, faint LED light blinked almost imperceptibly on its surface.
“What is that?” Sam asked, his voice low and dangerous.
Tessa stared at it, her face drained of all color. “It’s a GPS tracker,” she whispered, her eyes wide. “Real-time. He knows exactly where you are, Maya. Always.”
The realization hit me like a physical blow. He wasn’t just tracking my finances. He was tracking *me*.
Before I could fully process it, Sam lunged for the door. “That bastard! I’m going to—”
He threw open the bedroom door and stomped towards the living room. I heard Julian’s voice, calm and even, followed by Sam’s furious roar.
“You put a damn tracker on her, Julian? You’re sick!”
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