Chapter 4 - The Red Folder
Julian searched the bedroom.
Nothing.
The closet was nearly empty.
His wife's jewelry was gone.
Her documents were gone.
The beige handbag was gone.
The suitcase was gone.
But something else was missing.
The copy of the original house deed.
Julian opened the safe.
The safe was empty except for his passport and a few watches.
He cursed under his breath.
Evelyn appeared at the doorway.
“What are you looking for?”
“Nothing.”
“Julian.”
He turned.
“Why did you tell her this house was yours?”
Evelyn looked confused.
“It is yours.”
“Is it?”
His mother went silent.
Julian remembered the purchase years earlier.
The mansion had been acquired shortly after his father died.
At the time, Julian had been struggling financially.
His wife had already owned a small investment portfolio.
She had suggested buying the property.
He remembered her saying:
“We can build our life here.”
He had signed the documents.
She had signed them too.
But he had always considered the house his.
Because his name appeared on the mortgage.
Because his name appeared on the utility accounts.
Because he paid most of the expenses.
He never questioned the ownership structure.
Why would he?
His wife had never fought him over it.
Until now.
Julian called his attorney again.
No answer.
He called his bank.
Then the property management company.
Finally, a title company.
The employee searched the address.
Then became strangely quiet.
“Sir?”
“Yes?”
“Are you asking about the beneficial ownership?”
Julian frowned.
“What else would I ask about?”
Another pause.
“Your name isn't listed as the sole owner.”
Julian's heart dropped.
“Whose name is?”
“I can't disclose that without verification.”
Julian slammed the phone down.
Evelyn looked frightened.
“What did they say?”
Julian stared at her.
“I don't know.”
He went upstairs again.
He opened an old drawer.
Inside was a photograph from the day they moved into the mansion.
His wife stood beside him.
She was smiling.
Julian remembered how proud he had felt.
He had told everyone:
“My house.”
She had never corrected him.
Not once.
Now he wondered why.
Then he noticed something behind the photograph.
A small envelope.
His wife's handwriting.
It had one sentence written on the front.
For the day he forgets whose house this is.
May you like
Julian's hands began to shake.
👉 The envelope had been waiting inside the mansion for years—and Julian was about to learn why his wife had never corrected him.
