Marine Returns From Okinawa to Find Her Bungalow Already Sold
“I told you not to come here,” he said, his voice a defensive, gravelly growl.
He rubbed his calloused knuckles against the frame of the door, his gaze dropping to the folder under my arm.
“The bank gave me the wire transfer logs, Dad,” I said. “I know about the sixty-four thousand.”
He did not blink, but his grip on the edge of the door tightened.
“You have your money,” he said. “The house is paid off. You should be glad the debt is gone, instead of asking so many questions.”
“The debt was paid with a fraudulent transfer from a shell company,” I said. “Benson used Chad’s signature to clear the title so he could flip the house to Emily Morrison.”
“Chad had nothing to do with it,” he muttered.
“The bank records say otherwise,” I said. “The state real estate board is opening an investigation into Benson’s license on Monday morning.”
His face went pale, the deep lines around his mouth twitching as he looked down the empty hallway.
“You are going to ruin this family over a piece of dirt,” he said.
