I stood in my sister’s hallway, staring at the empty hooks where my late mother’s keys used to hang. “I don’t know where they are,” she shrugged, too quickly. Weeks later, a stranger called me, whispering, “Your address is listed on the deed I just bought.” My heart stopped. I rushed to the house and saw the lock changed. As I banged on the door, one terrifying question echoed in my head: what else had she already sold?

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Chapter 1: The Empty Hooks

The incessant rain of the Pacific Northwest tapped rhythmically on the porch of my sister Karen’s house. It had been a week since Mother’s funeral. Her house reeked of wilted lilies and stale coffee, the characteristic smell of mourning and weariness.

I, Elena, stood in the narrow hallway, clutching my leather purse. I had come to retrieve the spare keys to the house Mother had left behind – an old Craftsman-style house in the old neighborhood that Karen and I were co-heirs to. We had agreed to keep the house as it was until our emotions subsided.

But when I looked up at the oak key card holder at the entrance, where my mother used to carefully hang the keys whenever she visited Karen, I saw only empty, cold brass hooks.

“Karen?” I called into the kitchen. “Where are Mom’s house keys? I remember she left them here last week when she was hospitalized.”

Karen emerged from the kitchen, a glass of wine in her hand, even though it was only 10 a.m. She wore an old silk robe, her eyes were dark and sunken, and she avoided eye contact.

“I don’t know where they are,” Karen said, shrugging too quickly, a gesture she’d always made since she was a child when lying. “Maybe she dropped them somewhere, or the hospital nurse took them by mistake. Why are you making such a big deal out of it? We’re not going to sell the house right now anyway.”

“I need to go in there to get the insurance papers,” I frowned. “And Dad’s stamp collection. I want to bring them back for safekeeping.”

“Hold on,” Karen waved her hand, turning away. “I’ll look for them later. I have a terrible headache right now. You go home.”

I got to the car, my heart filled with doubt. Karen always had financial problems. She and her gambling-addicted husband, Mike, were always broke. But I reassured myself: Karen might be irresponsible, but she wouldn’t do anything stupid with her mother’s inheritance. She wouldn’t dare.

That was my first mistake.

Chapter 2: A Call from a Stranger

Three weeks passed. Karen’s silence made me uneasy, but the busy work at the law firm prevented me from visiting.

One Tuesday afternoon, as I was reviewing client files, my personal phone rang. An unfamiliar number, a local area code.

“Hello, Elena Vance speaking,” I answered out of professional habit.

“Hello, Ms. Vance,” a deep, hoarse male voice said. There was the sound of wind whistling and hammering in the background. “This is Robert Miller. I’m calling the number on the handover file.”

“Handover documents? I don’t understand what you’re talking about,” I replied, still flipping through papers on the table.

“About the house at 42 Elm Street,” he said.

I froze. That was my mother’s address.

“Who are you? Why are you asking about my mother’s house?”

“I’m the new owner,” the man named Miller said, his tone slightly irritated. “I just bought it last week in a ‘quick cash sale’. I’m having workers come in to clean it up for renovations.”

“What?” I jumped up, knocking my coffee cup to the floor. “Are you kidding? That house is jointly owned. I never signed any papers selling the house!”

There was a moment of silence on the other end of the line.

“Ma’am, I have all the notarized Quitclaim Deeds, signed by both co-heirs: Karen Vance and… Elena Vance. The seller said you were busy and therefore authorized me.”

“That’s a forgery!” I yelled. “I’ll call the police!”

“Do whatever you want,” Mr. Miller said, his voice lowered, sounding mysterious. “But I’m calling you for another reason. When my workers were cleaning the basement… they found some things not on the handover inventory. And… your current address is on some boxes of paperwork I just bought.”

“What paperwork?” My heart pounded.

“Invoices, letters, credit records… all in your name, but the mailing address was moved to your mother’s house six months ago. And…” he trailed off. “There’s a second mortgage in your name, signed two weeks ago, using your house as collateral.”

“What did you say?” I felt the ground collapse beneath my feet.

“You should come and see for yourself. Before I throw it all in the trash.”

Chapter 3: The Lock Has Been Changed

I stormed out of the office like a madman. I drove to my mother’s house at 90 miles per hour.

When I arrived, a “Under Construction” sign was stuck in front of the lawn. A large garbage truck was parked at the entrance. The workers were tossing my mother’s belongings – the sofa, the curtains, her lifelong mementos – into the truck like rubbish.

I ran up the steps, intending to open the door. My key wouldn’t turn.

The lock had been changed.

I banged on the door. “Open! Is anyone in there?”

A large man, wearing a flannel shirt, emerged from the side of the house. It was Robert Miller. He looked at me with a mixture of pity and wariness.

“Ms. Vance?”

“Mr. Miller! Stop right there! Where is my sister?”

“The woman who sold me the house? She took the cash and left immediately after signing the papers. She said she was moving to Florida.”

Mr. Miller led me inside. The house was empty. The smell of fresh paint couldn’t mask the smell of betrayal. He pointed to a pile of cardboard boxes in the corner of the living room.

“That’s it…”

and what she left behind. She said, “Throw everything away, except for the valuables.”

I knelt down, rummaging through the papers.

My hands trembled as I picked up a stack of credit records.
American Express Platinum credit card – In Elena Vance’s name – Outstanding balance: $50,000.
SoFi personal loan – In Elena Vance’s name – Amount: $100,000.
Quitclaim Deed – My signature was forged.

Karen didn’t just sell my mother’s house. She had stolen my identity. She used my personal information (which she obtained while helping me move last year) to open numerous credit cards, take out loans, and even forge signatures to sell inherited property.

“What else did she sell?” A terrifying question echoed in my head.

I flipped through the papers again. At the bottom was another sales contract. The ink was still fresh.

Car Sales Contract.

Asset: 2023 Lexus RX 350.

License Plate: [My license plate].

Status: Delivered.

I froze. I looked out the window where my Lexus was parked.

But it wasn’t there.

The spot where I’d parked just 5 minutes ago was now empty.

I’d panicked when I ran inside and hadn’t locked the car. And someone – someone with a spare key – had driven it away.

My phone vibrated. A text message from Karen.

“Sorry, little sister. Florida is beautiful. Don’t try to find me. I used your passport to fly.” “Thank you for a new life.”

I collapsed onto the dusty floor. Karen hadn’t just sold my mother’s house. She’d sold me. She’d taken all my money, my credit, my car, and even my legal identity to escape her own debts, leaving me with a massive pile of debt and the risk of jail time for fraudulent loans in my name.

Chapter 4: The Predator’s Twist

“Ms. Vance, are you alright?” Mr. Miller asked, placing his hand on my shoulder.

I looked up at him. In my desperation, my brain was working overtime. I’m a lawyer. I handle litigation. I can’t collapse now.

I scrutinized Mr. Miller. He said he bought the house for cash. He said he found the paperwork.

But something was wrong.

Why would a real estate investor care about calling me about this rubbish? Why did he know my personal mobile number (the number I (Not publicly disclosed)?

And most importantly… why does he have a small scorpion tattoo on his wrist – the symbol of a notorious loan shark gang in this area that I prosecuted in a case last year?

I recoiled.

“You’re not the buyer,” I said, my voice trembling but firm.

Robert Miller smiled. The smile of a predator.

“You’re smart, Attorney Vance. Smarter than your stupid older sister.”

“Who are you?”

“I’m Karen’s creditor,” he said casually, pulling out a cigarette and lighting it. “Your sister owes us $500,000 in gambling debts. She can’t pay. She’s offered a deal.”

“What deal?”

“She’s selling us this house with forged documents to settle the debt.” “And she sold us something else that’s even more valuable.”

He snapped his fingers.

From the back door, two large men entered, blocking my escape route.

“She sold you,” he said.

“What?”

“Karen said you’re a good lawyer. You know how to launder money. You know how to bend the law. She said if we caught you, you’d be worth far more than $500,000. She gave us the spare keys to your car, and your work schedule.” She tricked you into coming here by leaving those papers behind to make you panic and lower your guard.”

I understood everything. The “buyer” call was just a trap. Karen didn’t just steal my money. She sold me to the mafia for her own life. She used me as a scapegoat.

“What else did she sell?” That question now had the most horrifying answer: my freedom.

“I won’t work for you,” I said, backing away towards the glass window.

“You have no choice,” the leader approached. “You are now penniless on paper. Your accounts are frozen, your identity is stolen, your car is gone. You no longer exist, Elena.” “She belongs to us.”

He reached out to grab me.

CRASH!

I didn’t think. I grabbed my father’s urn (which the workers hadn’t yet thrown away) from the fireplace and smashed it against his head.

Ashes flew everywhere. He screamed, clutching his head and recoiling.

I dashed through the glass window. The broken glass cut my skin, but the adrenaline made the pain go away.

I rolled onto the grass, got up, and ran. I ran frantically toward the woods behind the house.

“Catch her!” A shout rang out from behind.

I ran and ran until my lungs burned. I knew this woods. My mother and I had played hide-and-seek here hundreds of times.

I hid in an old, overgrown drain. I lay still, my heart pounding, listening to their footsteps rumbling overhead.

Chapter End: Revenge

That night, I didn’t go home. My home was gone. Safe.

I walked 10 miles to the state police station. With a

With my knowledge of the law, I knew what I needed to do. I didn’t report a typical missing person or theft. I reported kidnapping and human trafficking.

The FBI got involved because of the serious nature of the Scorpion gang.

A week later.

“Robert Miller”‘s gang was dismantled.

And Karen?

She was sunbathing on a Florida beach, thinking she was free. She used my passport, my credit cards.

But she forgot one thing. By using my identity, she also inherited… my enemies.

I secretly sent an anonymous message to a rival gang of the Scorpion group – the ones I had sent to jail but had just released. I told them that “Lawyer Elena Vance” (the person they hated) was hiding in Florida at a hotel address I found through their credit card transaction history.

When the FBI raided the hotel to arrest Karen for fraud, they found her tied up in a room, weeping hysterically, surrounded by thugs demanding revenge.

Karen was arrested. She was sentenced to 20 years in prison for a series of crimes.

I got my house back, my car (albeit damaged), and most importantly, my identity.

I stood in front of my mother’s empty house. I changed the locks. This time, I only made one key.

I hung the key on the keyring. It was alone, but safe.

I lost a sister, but I learned a valuable lesson: When greed takes over, blood relatives are just commodities to be valued. And sometimes, empty keyrings are a better sign than giving the keys to the wrong person.