I Served 12 Years In Black Ops Only To Find My Brother Stole My $6.8m Home. He Declared Me Dead And Forced Our 78-year-old Mom To Be His Maid. Now, The Real Mission Begins.

“My brother. He died years ago, sadly. Military.”

“I’m sorry for your loss,”

I said.

“I inherited the property as next of kin.”

“Was he in Iraq? Afghanistan?”

“Both, actually. Hell of a soldier. Died a hero.”

He said it so smoothly, with such false sincerity, that I wanted to break his jaw right there.

“Well,”

I said.

“I think we can move forward. I’d need to do some due diligence, of course—title search, inspection, that sort of thing. But I’m prepared to write you a check for $1 million today as earnest money.”

His eyes gleamed.

“That’s very generous.”

“I have one condition,”

I said.

“I need to see the basement. The listing photos online didn’t show it, and I want to make sure there’s no water damage or foundation issues.”

“Of course,”

Daniel said.

“though I should warn you. We use it for storage. It’s a bit cluttered.”

We walked downstairs. I saw my mother’s door closed tight. Daniel led me to the other side of the basement, showing me the water heater and the electrical panel, talking fast about how everything was recently upgraded and to code.

I wandered over to the corner where my mother’s room was. I tried the door handle. Locked.

“What’s in here?”

“Just storage,”

Daniel said quickly.

“Old furniture, boxes. Nothing important.”

“I’d like to see it.”

“I don’t have the key on me.”

I pulled a lockpick from my pocket.

“I’ve got tools, Mr. Halverson.”

“I really don’t think—”

The Masks Fall Away

I picked the lock in 3 seconds and opened the door. My mother was sitting on the bed, staring at her hands. She looked up when the door opened, fear in her eyes.

Then she saw me—really saw me—and something flickered in her expression. Recognition, maybe, or just confusion at seeing a stranger.

“Who is this?”

I asked Daniel, my voice still calm, still playing the role.

“That’s… she’s the housekeeper. She lives on site.”

“In the basement? With no windows? No proper bathroom?”

“It’s temporary,”

Daniel said.

“She prefers it down here. Quiet.”

I walked into the room. I looked at my mother. She was so thin, so fragile, so utterly broken.

“Ma’am,”

I said gently.

“What’s your name?”

“Emma,”

she whispered.

“Emma Reed.”

“Reed?”

I looked at Daniel.

“Same last name as you. Coincidence?”

“Common name.”

I turned back to my mother.

“Emma, how long have you lived here?”

She looked at Daniel, seeking permission to speak. He gave a barely perceptible shake of his head.

“I… I don’t remember,”

she said.

I pulled out my phone. I brought up a photo, one I’d downloaded from the county assessor’s website. It was the property deed with my name on it.

“Emma, do you know this person? Michael Reed?”

Her eyes filled with tears.