As soon as Mark was gone, we rushed back inside, my heart still racing. The document lay untouched on the table, a haunting reminder of our midnight encounter. I picked it up, scanning the pages for any changes or notes he might have left.
“Why would he take this?” I asked, trying to wrap my head around the situation. My husband shook his head, equally puzzled. We had always trusted Mark; he was family, after all. But this act of intrusion planted seeds of doubt in my mind.
First thing in the morning, I called our bank. The customer service representative sounded cheerful, oblivious to my growing anxiety. I explained the situation, hoping for some clarity about our mortgage status.
“Let me pull up your records,” she said, her tone switching to one of professionalism. There was a pause, followed by a few clicks on her keyboard. “Everything seems in order, ma’am. No recent changes or unusual activity.”
This only deepened the mystery. If the bank had no issues, then why did Mark have our contract? What was he looking for?
My husband suggested we call Mark and confront him, but something held me back. We needed more information before making accusations. The stakes were too high to act on assumptions alone.
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