Chapter 3

Three nights after visiting the County Recorder’s Office, I worked late until 11:00 PM.

A major engineering issue had popped up on-site, and my crew had spent hours fixing it. I was utterly exhausted.

All I wanted was to fall into bed.

Yet, when I unlocked the front door, the scene before me made my blood run cold.

Marcus was walking out of the master bedroom wearing my bathrobe, his hair dripping wet.

Seeing me, he didn't show an ounce of shame. Instead, he flashed a victor's grin.

He leaned against the doorframe, cocking his chin at me lazily.

"You're back?"

His tone made it sound like I was the uninvited guest trespassing in his home.

I said nothing. My eyes drifted past him toward the shut bedroom door.

Behind that door was Chloe, my legal wife.

I didn't knock. I didn't yell. I simply turned around to walk toward the guest room.

Marcus reached out and blocked my way. Leaning in close, he whispered into my ear, his voice dripping with venom.

"Your wife told me to kick you out of the guest room, too. She said just looking at your face makes her sick."

The words hit like a poisoned dagger straight to my chest.

My limbs went numb.

I slowly turned my head and looked him dead in the eye.

"Did she actually say that?"

Marcus smirked even wider. "Of course. In fact, we were just brainstorming the easiest way to make you leave with nothing but the clothes on your back."

I locked eyes with him, my chest heaving.

In that split second, every fiber of my being screamed at me to smash his arrogant face into the drywall.

But I couldn't.

Losing my temper wouldn't fix a damn thing. It would only give them legal leverage over me.

I took a deep breath, forcing my racing pulse to slow down.

Without another word, I walked to the door, put my boots back on, and turned the handle.

As I opened the door to leave, Marcus’s mocking voice echoed from behind.

"A coward is always a coward. Can't even let out a squeak, can you?"

I didn't turn back. I walked out and let the door click shut.

That night, I didn't go back to the trailer.

There were too many workers around, and I needed absolute silence to think.

I walked into a 24-hour diner, ordered a large soda, and sat by the window until dawn.

The dead of night gave me the space to piece every single clue together.

The forged Power of Attorney, the stolen title deed, Marcus moving into my master bedroom.

Their endgame went far beyond just stealing the house.

There had to be another bomb waiting to go off.

Suddenly, another memory surfaced.

The day before we got our marriage license, Chloe had shoved another paper in front of me.

She claimed that she and Marcus were applying for an interest-free startup loan for their company, and the lender required a "co-guarantor."

She painted a lavish picture of their company's future, promising massive year-end dividends that would be a "huge surprise" for me.

To put my mind at ease, she showed me the loan contract—the field for the loan amount was completely blank.

She said the bank would fill it in once the final credit evaluation was completed; that was standard protocol.

I had felt uneasy, but blinded by her promises and not wanting to start a fight right before the wedding, I signed my name.

Now, sitting in the diner, the truth hit me like a freight train.

That blank loan contract was their real kill shot.

When dawn broke, my eyes were bloodshot, but my head was clearer than it had ever been.

I pulled out my phone and dialed my college buddy Dan, now a top-tier litigation attorney.

"Dan, I need your help."

I laid out the timeline clearly, skipping the humiliating emotional baggage.

When I finished, Dan went silent for a long time.

"Ethan... this is bad," he said gravely. "These people planned this meticulously. Every move they made skirts right on the edge of legal gray areas. Especially that blank contract—if they filled in an astronomical number and used your house as collateral, you..."

He didn't finish the sentence, but I already knew.

I would be drowning in millions of dollars of debt for the rest of my life.

"What should I do?" My voice was raspy from staying up all night.

"Don't panic. First, keep playing dumb. Don't tip your hand. The absolute priority right now is securing hard proof of fraud. Those hidden cameras and recorders you planted? That’s your ammunition. Remember: from this moment on, every word they say to you and every move they make must be treated as courtroom evidence."

Dan's advice grounded me.

After that night, I never went back to that house.

I called Chloe and told her my company had sent me out of town for an emergency site inspection and I wouldn't be back for weeks.

She could barely disguise the pure joy in her voice.

During those two weeks, I hired a private investigator through Dan to dig into Marcus’s so-called "startup company."

The findings confirmed my darkest suspicions.

It was a textbook shell company. Registered capital of barely ten grand, zero actual business operations.

The only transaction on its corporate account was a massive wire transfer that had just cleared from a commercial lending bank.

The total amount: Three million dollars.

When I saw that number, I actually laughed out loud.

So, in their eyes, my entire life was worth exactly three million dollars.

Clutching the folder of evidence from the investigator, I walked straight into the lending bank.

When I identified myself as the sole legal owner of the property and demanded to review the entire three-million-dollar mortgage file, the branch manager’s face went completely pale.