Part 2The Empty House: My Boyfriend and Best Friend Sold My Life to Fund Their Vacation

Before I hung up, I opened the GPS tracking app for my car.

My Porsche wasn't in the parking garage either.

The tracker showed it parked at a luxury used car dealership on the west side of the city.

When the dealership owner answered my call, his tone was overly polite, dripping with a salesman's enthusiasm.

"Ms. Vance, right? Someone's very interested in your Porsche. We almost finalized the paperwork today. The offer is actually $2,000 higher than expected."

I stood in the center of my echoing living room, staring at the dusty footprints the movers left behind.

"Who authorized you to sell it?"

The owner sounded confused. "Mr. Hayes did. He said he's your fiancé and that he’s the one who usually drives it. He had all the proper authorization paperwork; we verified it."

A minute later, he texted me photos of the documents.

The vehicle registration.

The spare key handover receipt.

And a signed Power of Attorney.

I swiped through them one by one, my finger stopping on the final image.

At the bottom of the Power of Attorney was my signature.

Serena Vance.

It was a very good forgery. It even captured the slight leftward slant I naturally wrote with.

But the final stroke of my signature never pressed downward. I had been writing it for over twenty years; the tail always flicked lightly upward.

That wasn't my handwriting.

I stared at the photos for a long time, and a strange sense of calm washed over me.

My house was emptied, my jewelry was sold, and my car was put on consignment.

This had far exceeded the scope of a petty lovers' quarrel. This was a premeditated, blatant plundering of my life, built entirely on my trust. They intended to strip me down to nothing.

By the time I took the elevator down, the building manager was waiting in the security room, sweating profusely.

On the monitors, Carter was wearing a black jacket I bought for him, standing in my living room and directing the movers to lift my sofa. Mia was wearing designer sunglasses, leaning against the entryway console sipping a coffee, looking as relaxed as if she owned the place.

A mover asked, "Do we take this painting too?"

Carter didn't even turn his head. "Take it."

Mia let out a disdainful laugh. "That thing doesn't look like it's worth much, does it? It's just a bunch of dull gray."

Carter replied, "Even if it's cheap, it'll sell for something. Don't waste it."

Hearing that, my fingers paused on the desk.

I bought that painting right after graduating from college. It wasn't by a world-famous master, but it still cost me six figures. I hung it in my study and never mentioned the price to anyone.

They had no idea.

They only knew I didn't like to show off, which made them think I was an easy mark.

The building manager wiped his forehead, his voice trembling. "Ms. Vance, the building management definitely bears some responsibility here. We should have verified with you before letting them through..."

"It's too early to talk about responsibility," I interrupted. "Copy the security footage, the vehicle logs, the visitor logs, and the electronic door access timestamps onto two separate flash drives for me."

"Right away, right away."

Once I had the data, I sat in my rental car and dialed 911, clearly stating that individuals had forged my signature to liquidate my assets. Then I contacted my lawyer, sending over a detailed list of the evidence I’d gathered.

Only after all that was done did I finally text Carter.

"You're selling my car?"

Five minutes later, he sent a voice memo. In the background, I could hear crashing waves and a woman's laughter.

"Serena, could you not be such a buzzkill? I just needed some cash flow for a bit. It’s not like I wasn't going to pay you back. Do you really have to act like this?"

I typed back: "And the furniture? The jewelry?"

This time, it was Mia who replied from his phone.

She sent a pitiful, pouting emoji, her tone sickeningly sweet. "Serena, don't be so mean! Didn't you always say I could wear whatever I liked of yours? I'm just borrowing them for a bit."

"Borrowing them to sell to a pawn shop?"

She didn't reply.

Two minutes later, Carter sent another text, dripping with impatience. "We've been together for ten years, and you're going to throw a tantrum over some material possessions?"

I looked at the screen and let out a short laugh.

Ten years.

What a convenient excuse. As if committing theft magically transforms into "cash flow," and betrayal becomes a "trivial matter," just as long as you've known the person long enough.

I was about to lock my phone when the car dealership owner called again.

His voice was much lower this time, carrying a hesitant, cautious tone. "Ms. Vance, I just want to give you a heads up... The documents Mr. Hayes provided didn't just have your signature."

My stomach dropped.

"They also had your fingerprint stamp."