I Installed ADT Security in My New House Without Telling Anyone – First Night There, the Alarm Triggered

A Letter from the Grave

My hands shook as I opened the envelope and unfolded the letter inside.

“My dearest Dorothy, if you’re reading this, then I’ve failed you. I’m gone, and you’ve discovered the secret I never wanted to keep from you. I can only imagine how betrayed you must feel, and I’m so profoundly sorry. I did this because I love you, because I couldn’t bear the thought of you being left vulnerable after I was gone.”

“Rebecca is dangerous, though I pray I’m wrong about her. I pray that by the time you read this, she’s proven me paranoid and Michael is happily married to a woman who truly loves him. But if I’m right, if she’s shown her true nature, then please forgive me for these deceptions.”

“The beach house is yours, free and clear. All the documentation is legitimate. It’s worth about $400,000 and it’s safe from any claims Michael or Rebecca might make on your estate.”

“There’s more in a safe deposit box at First National Bank in Portland. You’ll find additional documents, evidence of Rebecca’s past, her real identity, everything the investigator found. Use these if you need to protect yourself.”

“The key is taped inside your grandmother’s recipe box, behind the index card for her apple pie. I spent 42 years loving you, Dorothy. You are the strongest, wisest person I’ve ever known. Trust your instincts, trust your intelligence—you’ll know what to do. All my love always, Thomas.”

I sat there, tears streaming down my face, holding my husband’s final message. He’d been protecting me even from beyond the grave.

Yes, he’d deceived me. Yes, he’d manipulated me into signing papers I wouldn’t remember. But he’d done it out of love, out of desperate fear for my safety.

“There’s one more thing,” Cooper said quietly. “The investigator found something two weeks ago. Rebecca has been in contact with her previous victims, the families from California and Arizona.”

“It appears she’s done this successfully at least four times. Each time she extracts between half a million and a million dollars before disappearing.”

“But she’s still with Michael because you’re still alive. She can’t fully access your assets while you’re living. Incompetent, but if something were to happen to you, if you had an accident or were declared unable to care for yourself, Michael would inherit everything—and Rebecca would be right there to help him manage it.”

The implications crashed over me like a wave. “You think she’d hurt me?”

“I think she’s desperate. She’s invested years in this con, and you’re the only obstacle standing between her and a significant payday. Be careful, Dorothy. Very careful.”

I left Cooper’s office as the rain intensified, my mind reeling. I had evidence now—proof of Rebecca’s true identity, her history, her plans.

But I also had a problem. If I confronted her directly, she’d know I’d discovered everything, and a cornered predator was the most dangerous kind.

I was halfway to my car when my phone rang. “Michael?”

“Mom, where are you? I’ve been calling all day.” “I’m in Seattle. I had some errands.”

“Seattle? Why didn’t you tell me? And why haven’t you been answering? We’ve been worried sick.” “We?” He meant Rebecca.

“My phone was on silent. I’m sorry, dear.” “Well, listen, there’s been a change of plans. Rebecca and I are actually at your beach house right now. We decided to surprise you. We brought groceries for dinner and everything, but you’re not here.”

My blood turned to ice. They were at my house right now, with full access to everything inside.

“I’ll be home in a few hours,” I managed to say. “Great. We’ll wait for you. Drive safe; the roads are getting bad.”

After he hung up, I stood in the parking garage, rain echoing off concrete, and realized the trap had been set. Rebecca was in my house, searching for the evidence she needed, and I was 3 hours away, unable to stop her.

The Race Back to the Coast

Whatever she found, whatever she was looking for, she’d have it long before I made it home. I drove through the rain like a woman possessed, my hands white-knuckled on the steering wheel.

3 hours. Rebecca had 3 hours to tear my house apart, to find the documents I’d hidden, to discover what Thomas had left for me.

The recipe box. Thomas’s letter had mentioned it. The safe deposit key was taped inside, behind the apple pie recipe card.

But the original trust documents were also in that box. If Rebecca found them, she’d know I’d discovered everything.

My phone rang again. This time, an unknown number. I almost didn’t answer, but something made me pick up.

“Hello?” “Mrs. Norton, this is Margaret Kowalski, your neighbor in Portland.” My stomach dropped.

“Margaret, is everything all right?” “Well, I’m not sure. You asked me to watch your house, and I’ve been keeping an eye out like I promised. But about an hour ago, I saw someone going in through your back door.”

“A woman, I think. She had a key, so I assumed it was family, but then I remembered what you said about wanting to know if anyone was there.” “What did she look like?”

“Tall, dark hair, very put together, wearing expensive-looking clothes.” Rebecca.

She’d sent Michael to the beach house as a distraction while she went to Portland to search my home there. They were working together, coordinating their attack.

“Margaret, call the police right now. Tell them there’s an intruder in my house.” “But if she has a key—” “She doesn’t have my permission to be there. Please, Margaret, it’s urgent.”

“Of course, dear, I’ll call right away.” I hung up and immediately dialed Michael. He answered on the first ring.

“Hey, Mom. How much longer? Rebecca’s making her famous lasagna.” “Michael, where’s Rebecca right now?”

A pause. “What do you mean? She’s right here in the kitchen.” “Put her on the phone.” “Mom, what’s going on? You sound strange.”

“Put her on.” Muffled sounds, then Rebecca’s voice, smooth as silk. “Dorothy? Is everything okay?”

“Mrs. Kowalski just saw you breaking into my Portland house.” Silence, then carefully: “I think your neighbor is confused. I’m at your beach house with Michael. I’ve been here for over an hour.”

“Then who’s in my Portland house right now? Who has a key to my back door?” “I have no idea. Maybe you should call the police if you’re concerned.”

Her tone was perfectly reasonable, perfectly innocent. “Dorothy, are you feeling all right? You sound very stressed.” “Don’t patronize me.”

“I’m not. I’m genuinely worried. Michael and I both are. These past few days, you’ve seemed scattered. The doctor’s appointment you forgot to mention, now paranoia about break-ins. Maybe when you get home, we should talk about whether living alone is really the best idea.”

There it was—the accusation wrapped in concern, the setup for their ultimate goal: proving I was incompetent. “I’ll be home in 2 and a half hours,” I said, keeping my voice level.

“Don’t touch anything in my house.” “Of course not. It’s your home.”

A pause. “We brought wine. I thought we could have a nice evening together, talk about the future. Michael has some ideas he wants to discuss with you.”

I ended the call without responding. My mind raced. If Rebecca was truly at the beach house, then who was in Portland?

An accomplice? Someone she’d hired? The investigator’s report had mentioned she worked alone in her previous cons, but maybe she’d adapted her methods.

Or maybe she was lying. Maybe she’d recorded video of herself in my kitchen earlier, was showing Michael old footage while she ransacked my Portland house right now.

I called Margaret back. “Did you call the police?” “Yes, they’re sending someone. But Dorothy, the woman just left. I watched her walk out the front door and drive away in a black Mercedes SUV.”

Black Mercedes. Rebecca drove a black Mercedes. “Did you get the license plate?”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t think to look.” “It’s okay, Margaret. Thank you. If she comes back, call 911 immediately.”

“I will. And Dorothy? I’m worried about you. Maybe you should come home to Portland for a while. Being at that beach house all alone…”

Everyone wanted me to give up, to come back to Portland where they could watch me, control me, slowly strip away my independence. “I’m fine,” I said firmly. “But I appreciate your concern.”

The rain intensified as I crossed into Pacific County. My phone buzzed with a text from Michael: Mom, seriously, when will you be home? We’re starting to worry.

I didn’t respond. Instead, I called the one person I thought might help me. “Cooper, Keller and Associates. I need to speak with Roy Cooper. It’s Dorothy Norton. It’s an emergency.”

“I’m sorry, Mr. Cooper has left for the day.” “Please. Tell him Rebecca is in my house. Tell him it’s happening now.”

A pause. “Hold, please.” Cooper came on the line within seconds. “Dorothy? What’s happening?”

I explained everything: the call from Margaret, Rebecca’s impossible claim to be at the beach house, Michael’s texts. “She’s escalating,” Cooper said grimly.

“Faster than I anticipated. Listen to me carefully. Do you have the documents I gave you? The investigator’s report?” “Yes, in my car.”

“Good. Don’t take them into the house. Rebecca might search you, your purse, everything. Stop somewhere before you get home—a gas station, anywhere public with security cameras. Put those documents in your trunk, lock it, and keep your keys on you at all times.”

“Okay.” “When you get home, act normal. Don’t let her know you suspect anything. We need to buy time to get the evidence from your safe deposit box in Portland. That’s the real proof—her previous identities, the police reports, everything.”

“Without it, we just have speculation.” “But she might have already gotten into the safe deposit box if she has my keys.”

“She’d need proper identification and authorization. Bank security is tight, but you’re right to be concerned. First thing Monday morning, you need to get to that bank.”

“That’s 3 days away.” “I know. Can you hold on that long? Can you play the part of the unsuspecting mother-in-law?”

I thought about Thomas’s letter, about his faith in my strength, my wisdom. “Yes. I can do that.”

“Good. Call me if anything changes. And Dorothy? Don’t eat or drink anything Rebecca prepares. I’m serious.”

The line went dead. Don’t eat or drink anything. The implication hung in the air like poison gas.

Did Cooper think Rebecca would actually try to drug me? Harm me directly? I stopped at a gas station 10 miles from Seabrook and did exactly as Cooper instructed.

I locked the investigator’s report and Thomas’s letter in my trunk, keeping only my regular purse and phone. Then I sat in my car for 5 minutes, breathing deeply, preparing myself. I could do this. I had to.