Chapter 4: Coffee Republic, Ten O'Clock
The café was quiet when they arrived.
Maya had barely slept.
She had spent the night on Diane's sofa under a spare blanket, staring at the ceiling while Diane snored softly in the next room.
At six in the morning she had given up, made tea she didn't drink, and sat at the kitchen table looking at the folder of documents she had retrieved from her hallway boxes the night before — after waiting in the stairwell until she was certain her father had gone to bed.
She had her deed.
Her mortgage statements.
Every direct debit confirmation going back four years.
She set them all on the table now.
Diane sat across from her, hands wrapped around a flat white, watching the door.
"That's them," Diane said.
Maya looked up.
A woman walked in.
Late fifties, maybe sixty.
Silver hair pulled back.
A dark coat.
She scanned the room and found Maya's face with the kind of certainty that meant she had seen a photograph of her somewhere.
She crossed to their table and sat down without waiting to be invited.
"Maya."
"Yes."
"I'm Ruth." She set her handbag on the table and folded her hands on top of it.
"I was your parents' neighbour for eleven years.
Before they moved to the house they're in now."
Maya looked at her carefully.
"I don't remember you."
"You were away at university.
And then you moved here.
We never overlapped."
"How do you know about the apartment?"
Ruth reached into her handbag and produced a plain white envelope.
She set it on the table between them.
"Six weeks ago, your father came to see me.
He asked me to witness a document."
Maya's hand moved toward the envelope.
"What document?"
"He told me it was a straightforward transfer of a personal asset between family members.
He said it was your idea.
That you wanted your brother to have the apartment as a wedding gift.
That you'd already agreed."
The café felt very still.
"He told you I agreed."
"He showed me a letter.
Signed with your name." Ruth paused.
"It wasn't a deed transfer.
I'm not a solicitor.
I didn't know exactly what I was witnessing.
But I signed as a witness because your father told me you had consented and it was just a formality."
Diane set her cup down carefully.
"What made you contact Maya?" she said.
Ruth looked at her, then back at Maya.
"Because two days ago I ran into your mother at the market.
She mentioned the wedding.
She mentioned the apartment.
She mentioned how happy your brother was." She stopped.
"She never mentioned you at all.
Not once.
Not your name.
Not a thank you.
Nothing."
Maya's fingers were pressed flat on the table.
"I started to wonder," Ruth continued.
"I went home and I looked at the copy of the document your father had given me.
And I thought — if she agreed to this, why isn't anyone mentioning her?" She slid the envelope closer.
"That's a copy.
Your father kept the original."
Maya picked up the envelope.
Inside was a single folded sheet.
She opened it.
Her name was at the top.
Her address.
The apartment details.
A paragraph declaring her willing transfer of the property to her brother Daniel free of charge, as a gift, in anticipation of his marriage.
And at the bottom, a signature.
Her name.
Her handwriting — almost.
She held it under the light from the window.
The loop on the M was wrong.
She had always closed it.
This one was open.
"That's not my signature," she said.
Ruth nodded slowly.
"I was afraid of that."
"My father forged this." Maya's voice was very flat.
Very quiet.
"He forged my signature, found a witness who didn't know any better, and then moved my belongings into the hallway as if it was already settled."
"Maya—" Diane started.
"He planned this." She folded the paper back into the envelope.
"This wasn't yesterday.
He had this prepared six weeks ago.
While I was at work.
While I was living there."
Ruth reached into her bag again and produced her phone.
"I also have this." She turned the screen toward Maya.
A voice recording.
Forty-three seconds.
The timestamp showed six weeks ago, the same evening she had witnessed the document.
Ruth pressed play.
Her father's voice came through the speaker, low and certain: *She won't fight it.
She's too soft.
And even if she tries, by the time she gets a solicitor involved, the wedding will be done and the apartment will be in his name.
She'll accept it eventually.
She always does.*
The café was completely silent.
Maya stared at the phone until the recording ended.
Her father's voice faded out.
The café sounds came back — the hiss of the coffee machine, someone pushing a chair back two tables away.
"I want a copy of that recording," Maya said.
"I'll send it to you right now." Ruth picked up her phone.
"I'm sorry I didn't come sooner.
I didn't know what I'd witnessed until it was almost too late."
Maya looked at her.
"You came.
That's what matters."
Her own phone was already in her hand.
She was dialling before Diane could say a word.
"Who are you calling?" Diane asked.
May you like
"A solicitor," Maya said.
"And then the police."
