Chapter 2

The drive from the bank to my parents' house was a blur of anger and disbelief. Mr. Henderson's smug face, the forged signature, the name 'Brenda Hayes'-it all swirled in my head. This wasn't just a mistake. This was a deliberate, calculated attack.

I turned onto the familiar street, the one I used to ride my bike down as a kid. But as I pulled up to the house, the scene in front of me was so bizarre, so wrong, that I had to check the street sign to make sure I was in the right place.

The lawn was covered in people. Music was blasting from speakers set up on the porch. Colorful balloons were tied to the railings, and a large banner was strung across the front of the house. It read: "Congratulations, Brenda & Jake!"

My house. My parents' house. It was being used for a stranger's party.

I got out of the car and walked towards the crowd, my mind a cold, hard knot of fury. People with plastic cups of beer turned to look at me, their faces a mixture of curiosity and suspicion. I ignored them and pushed my way through to the front door.

A woman with bleached blonde hair and a dress that was a little too tight stood on the porch, laughing loudly. Next to her was a burly man with a thick neck and a proprietary arm wrapped around her waist. He was scanning the crowd with a smug look on his face. Jake Thorne and Brenda Hayes. It had to be them.

I walked straight up the steps. "What the hell is going on here?" I asked, my voice cutting through the music.

The woman, Brenda, turned to me. Her smile faltered, replaced by a look of carefully constructed confusion. "I'm sorry, can I help you?"

"You can start by telling me who you are and what you're doing in my house," I said.

The man, Jake, stepped forward, puffing out his chest. "Your house? I think you're mistaken, buddy. This is our house. My wife, Brenda, and I just bought it."

He said it with such confidence, such arrogance, that for a split second, the world felt like it was tilting on its axis.

"Your wife?" I said, a bitter laugh escaping my lips. I looked directly at Brenda. "That's funny, because the bank seems to think you're my wife."

Brenda's face went pale, but she recovered quickly. She put a hand to her chest, her eyes widening in mock offense. "What did you just say? Who are you?"

"I'm Alex Miller," I said, my voice ringing out. The music had stopped. Everyone was watching us. "This is my parents' house. And that marriage certificate you used to get a four-hundred-thousand-dollar loan in my name is a forgery."

A wave of murmurs went through the crowd. Jake's face turned a dark shade of red.

"You're crazy," he spat. "Brenda is my wife. We have the deed to this place. We bought it fair and square from you."

"No, you didn't," I said calmly. "Because I never sold it. And I'm certainly not married to her."

A woman from the crowd, probably a neighbor, chimed in. "Leave them alone! Brenda told us all about you. How you abandoned her and your son. You're a deadbeat!"

My son? The smear campaign was already in motion. They weren't just stealing my property; they were trying to steal my identity, my reputation.

"I don't have a son," I said, my gaze fixed on Brenda. Her eyes were starting to show a flicker of genuine panic.

"Jake, make him leave," she whispered, clutching his arm. "He's scaring me."

I looked around at the party. The cheap plastic cups, the store-bought cake, Jake's worn-out jeans. It didn't add up. "You throw a big party to celebrate buying a new house," I said, my voice laced with suspicion, "but you do it with a loan you took out in my name. Where's the money, Brenda? The four hundred thousand dollars? It certainly didn't go into this party."

I was fishing, but I saw from the way her eyes darted away that I'd hit a nerve.

Jake took another step towards me, his fists clenching. "You've got one second to get off my property before I remove you myself."

I held my ground. I pulled out my phone, my fingers flying across the screen as if I were back in my office debugging code. I started recording, making sure the camera was visibly pointed at them.

"This isn't over," I said, my voice cold and steady. "I'm documenting everything. Every lie, every forgery."

I took a step back, my phone still recording. I panned across the crowd, capturing their faces, their whispers. Then I focused back on Brenda and Jake. Their confident facade was cracking.

I saw a stack of papers on a small table by the door-mail, bills. I took a quick, discreet photo, zooming in. I could see account statements, credit card offers, all addressed to them at my house. More evidence.

"Enjoy the party," I said, a grim smile on my face. "Because it's the last one you'll be having here."

I turned and walked back to my car, the eyes of the entire neighborhood on my back. I didn't look back. The fight for my home had just begun, and I was going to use every tool at my disposal to win it. I had the video, the photo of their mail. It wasn't much, but it was a start. The apathetic tech CEO was gone, replaced by someone they had unwittingly created: a man with nothing left to lose and the skills to burn their world to the ground.