17 a.m., my ex unlocked Natalie’s apa…

PART 2

At 12:17 a.m., my ex unlocked Natalie’s apartment with a stolen key and accidentally confessed to three felonies on camera.

Dot’s Diner sat off the highway like a stubborn little miracle.

Red vinyl booths.

Bad coffee.

Neon sign buzzing in the rain.

The kind of place where cops ate pancakes at 2 a.m. and waitresses called grown men “honey” while judging their life choices.

Natalie walked in barefoot with silver heels dangling from one hand.

The waitress, Marge, didn’t blink.

“Rough wedding?” Marge asked.

“Engagement party,” Natalie said.

“Worse.”

We took the back booth.

Natalie opened her laptop.

I ordered black coffee for both of us and fries because panic deserved salt.

She uploaded the nanny cam footage to three places.

Cloud drive.

Email.

A flash drive from her purse.

Then she texted someone named Morgan.

I saw the name flash across the screen.

“Lawyer?” I asked.

“Ruthless lawyer.”

“Good kind?”

“The kind men like Logan call difficult when they mean expensive.”

Ten minutes later, Natalie’s phone rang.

She answered on speaker.

A woman’s voice snapped through.

“Tell me you’re not drunk.”

“I’m not drunk.”

“Tell me you didn’t threaten anyone in writing.”

“I did not threaten anyone in writing.”

“Excellent. Now tell me why you texted me at midnight saying, and I quote, ‘Brianna is stealing Grandma’s house.’”

Natalie looked at me.

Then at the laptop.

Then she played the video.

Morgan didn’t interrupt once.

When the clip ended, the only sound was rain against the diner window.

Then Morgan said, “Where are you?”

“Dot’s.”

“Stay there. Do not go home. Do not call Brianna. Do not post anything. Do not cry to a group chat. Do not be a civilian idiot.”

Natalie’s mouth twitched.

“I feel very supported.”

“You’ll feel supported after I get an emergency injunction.”

I leaned forward.

“Can she really file a forged deed?”

Morgan paused.

“Who is that?”

“Caleb Price,” Natalie said.

Another pause.

“The ex-boyfriend?”

I lifted my coffee.

“Apparently my reputation precedes me.”

Morgan ignored me.

“Caleb, are you willing to give a statement that you drove Natalie away from the apartment while Brianna and Logan were inside?”

“Yes.”

“Good. Keep receipts. Time-stamped texts. Dashcam footage if you have it.”

“I do.”

Natalie looked at me.

“You have a dashcam?”

“I inspect insurance fraud for a living. I trust nobody in parking lots.”

“For once, your caution is attractive.”

“Only for once?”

Morgan cut in.

“Flirt later. Evidence now.”

Natalie blushed.

I looked down at my fries like they had legal significance.

Then Morgan asked, “Natalie, did your grandmother’s original will leave the cottage solely to you?”

“Yes.”

“Do you have the original?”

Natalie’s face hardened.

“No. Brianna said it was lost after the funeral.”

Morgan made a sound that was half laugh, half threat.

“Of course she did.”

Natalie opened the yellow folder she had scanned months earlier.

“My grandma gave me copies before she died. She said, ‘Women in this family trust too easily, and men with clean shoes usually have dirty hands.’”

“I like Eleanor already,” Morgan said.

“She also gave me a flower tin.”

“A what?”

Natalie’s fingers paused over the keyboard.

“A blue flower tin from her kitchen shelf. She told me never to open it unless someone made me feel crazy about money.”

My skin prickled.

“Where is it?”

Natalie swallowed.

“In my apartment.”

On the camera feed, Brianna had disappeared into Natalie’s bedroom.

Logan stood in the living room, talking on his phone.

His voice came through, muffled but clear enough.

“No, the bank won’t question it if the collateral transfer hits before Monday. I’ll handle the notarization.”

Morgan went silent.

Then she said, “Caleb, what exactly do you do?”

“Claims adjuster.”

“Any fraud training?”

“A lot.”

“Do you recognize anything from Logan’s language?”

I stared at the screen.

Collateral transfer.

Notarization.

Revised deed.

Insurance people have a nose for lies.

Bankers have a different smell when they panic.

“He’s using the cottage as collateral,” I said slowly.

“For what?”

“Probably a business loan. Maybe Brianna’s wedding planning company. Maybe a shell LLC.”

Natalie looked at me.

“Brianna told people she was opening a venue.”

“Where?”

Natalie’s eyes narrowed.

“My grandma’s lake property.”

The diner seemed to shrink around us.

Suddenly the gold balloons, fake speeches, and champagne made sense.

Brianna wasn’t just marrying Logan.

She was building a life on paper she didn’t own.

“Natalie,” I said carefully, “did Brianna ever ask you to sign anything after your grandma died?”

Natalie went still.

“After the funeral, she brought papers to my porch.”

“What papers?”

“She said it was a tax form. Something about keeping the cottage from probate delays. I told her I wanted Morgan to review it. Brianna got offended.”

“Offended how?”

Natalie’s smile was thin.

“She cried in my driveway and said I was treating her like a stranger.”

Marge came by with the coffee pot.

“You two look like you found a body.”

Natalie didn’t look away from the screen.

“Not yet.”

Marge topped off my mug and wisely left.

At 12:46, Brianna returned to the living room holding the blue flower tin.

Natalie stopped breathing.

Brianna opened it.

Inside were envelopes.

Old receipts.

A flash drive.

And a folded document tied with a red ribbon.

Logan stepped closer.

Brianna whispered, “Oh my God.”

“What?” Logan asked.

“The real will.”

Natalie’s hand covered her mouth.

Still no tears.

Just silence.

The kind that comes before a woman decides mercy is no longer required.

Logan snatched the paper.

“Why didn’t you find this before?”

“Because Eleanor hid everything like a paranoid old bat.”

Natalie’s eyes flashed.

I reached under the table, not thinking, and touched her wrist.

She didn’t pull away.

On the screen, Brianna looked furious.

“She left Natalie everything. The cottage. The savings bonds. The safe deposit box. All of it.”

Logan cursed.

“Then destroy it.”

My stomach dropped.

Brianna held the will over Natalie’s kitchen sink.

For one sick second, I thought she would burn it.

Instead, she folded it, shoved it into her purse, and said, “No. We may need it.”

Logan stared at her.

“For what?”

“To control her.”

Natalie closed the laptop.

Not because she couldn’t watch.

Because she had enough.

Morgan’s voice came through the phone, sharp and bright.

“Natalie, listen to me. You now have evidence of trespass, theft, conspiracy to commit fraud, and potential document tampering. I’m filing first thing in the morning.”

Natalie looked down at her untouched coffee.

“What do I do tonight?”

“You stay with someone you trust.”

Her eyes flicked to me.

My chest tightened.

I said nothing.

Morgan added, “Not alone. Not in that apartment. Not with those people having keys.”

Natalie ended the call.

The diner hummed around us.

A trucker laughed near the counter.

Rain slid down the glass.

Normal life had the nerve to keep going.

“You can stay at my house,” I said.

Natalie’s expression changed.

Not fear.

Not distrust.

Calculation.

“On the couch,” I added.

“I wasn’t worried about the couch.”

I swallowed.

“What were you worried about?”

“That I’d like feeling safe with you too much.”

That hit me harder than any confession.

I looked at her across the booth, barefoot and furious, her curls coming loose around her face, her world burning in quiet pixels on a laptop screen.

“You’re safe,” I said.

“With you?”

“If you want to be.”

Her gaze held mine.

Then she nodded once.

“I want to be.”

We left Dot’s at 1:30.

Marge gave Natalie a paper bag of fries “for the trauma.”

In the parking lot, Natalie stopped beside my truck and looked back toward Maple Street.

“I almost went inside,” she said.

“I know.”