Chapter 3 - THE LENDER HAD A VIDEO OF “ME” APPROVING THE GUARANTEE, EXCEPT THE WOMAN ON CAMERA WAS NOT ME
By 8:00 the next morning, I had done four things.
Frozen my credit.
Called my employer’s general counsel.
Filed an identity-theft report through counsel.
And changed every password connected to anything Preston had ever touched.
By 9:30, Grant & Palmer placed me on paid administrative leave from two active forensic matters.
Not because they believed I had committed fraud.
Because my own identity was now part of an investigation involving financial documents that listed my professional credentials.
It hurt.
It was also correct.
My managing partner, Elaine Grant, looked directly at me across a conference table.
“Simone, I trust you.”
“I know.”
“But clients need clean chain.”
“I know.”
“You’ll cooperate with internal security review.”
“Yes.”
“Personal devices?”
“Through counsel.”
“Yes.”
“Good.”
No martyrdom.
No special treatment.
I had spent years telling corporate clients that conflicts should be managed rather than emotionally explained away.
Now I got to live inside my own advice.
At ten, Piedmont National Bank’s fraud counsel contacted Julian and my new personal attorney, Rebecca Moss.
Different Rebecca from other stories? Fine. Let's use Laura Kim to avoid.
My attorney was Laura Kim, a financial-crimes and identity-theft specialist Julian recommended specifically because he represented companies and did not want to become both my friend and my sole counsel.
That was why I trusted him.
He knew when not to control.
Laura joined by video.
The bank had preserved original loan package.
Including identity verification.
I expected forged driver’s license.
Maybe fake notarization.
Instead, the bank said:
“We have a recorded remote confirmation.”
My skin went cold.
“What?”
A woman had appeared on video.
She identified herself as Simone Carter.
She showed my driver’s license.
Answered knowledge-based questions.
Confirmed employment.
Confirmed guarantee.
The call lasted six minutes.
The bank sent preserved recording to law enforcement and counsel.
I watched under controlled conditions.
The woman wore dark hair pulled back.
Large glasses.
Neutral blouse.
Her face shape was close to mine from a distance.
Not identical.
Her voice lower.
But remote verification quality was mediocre.
The camera resolution poor.
The representative asked:
“Ms. Carter, do you understand you are providing personal guarantee?”
The woman answered:
“Yes.”
“Do you authorize Carter-Wade Investment Holdings to use your financial statements?”
“Yes.”
“Is Preston Wade authorized to communicate regarding this facility?”
“Yes.”
I felt physically sick.
Laura paused.
“Do you recognize her?”
“No.”
Julian looked closer.
“Could be someone Preston hired.”
Hannah, sitting beside me, whispered:
“Wait.”
She leaned toward screen.
“Play again.”
The woman lifted her left hand to adjust glasses.
There was a tattoo.
Tiny black crescent near wrist.
Hannah inhaled.
“I know her.”
Everyone turned.
“Who?”
“Dolores’s assistant.”
My heartbeat stopped.
“Who?”
“Marcy.”
Marcy Owens.
Dolores Wade’s personal assistant.
Forty-ish.
Quiet.
Always present at family events.
She handled invitations.
Travel.
Charity committees.
I had seen her dozens of times.
Never closely enough.
Hannah pulled up an old photograph from a Wade Foundation fundraiser.
Marcy in background.
Dark hair.
Glasses.
Crescent tattoo.
There.
The room went silent.
Laura said:
“Do not contact her.”
“No one is.”
Bank counsel confirmed Marcy’s name appeared nowhere in file.
Then identity questions.
How did she answer?
Knowledge-based questions likely drawn from credit/public records.
Address.
Prior employer.
Car loan.
Father’s county.
Preston knew much.
Dolores knew some.
Public databases supplied rest.
The driver’s license displayed?
A high-quality duplicate using my data and Marcy’s photograph? Wait video showed maybe actual license with Simone photo? She held it too blurry. Bank retained still image. It was a counterfeit card with my information and a retouched photograph resembling me.
Sophisticated enough.
Not state-issued.
Then signature.
Electronic.
My forged.
The bank representative had accepted because remote call plus documents.
Controls failed.
The bank’s fraud lawyer sounded deeply unhappy.
Good.
Then another layer:
The call originated from an IP address registered to Wade Family Office.
Dolores’s suite.
No accidental.
Law enforcement moved quickly after that.
Search warrants/requests.
I was not told every detail.
Good.
By afternoon, Marcy retained counsel.
Dolores retained separate counsel.
Preston already had corporate lawyer, now criminal counsel too.
Gerald Sinclair’s lawyers sent preservation acknowledgment.
Bri called me once.
I did not answer.
Then she emailed.
I need to speak to you alone.
Laura said no alone.
Bri could speak through counsel.
She agreed.
That surprised.
Two days later, she sat in Laura’s office with her own attorney.
I attended because I wanted.
Julian did not.
Good.
Bri looked nothing like the woman in emerald dress.
No perfect hair.
No smugness.
She looked exhausted.
“I’m not asking you to believe me.”
“Good.”
She flinched.
“I knew about the merger.”
“Yes.”
“I knew your engagement had business implications.”
“What does that mean?”
“My father believed marrying you strengthened Preston’s financial profile.”
“Why?”
“He said your family had assets.”
“My family did not have twelve million.”
“I didn’t know exact.”
“Did you know they used my name?”
She paused.
“Not at first.”
“At first.”
“When did you know?”
“Three months ago.”
My jaw tightened.
“What did you do?”
“I confronted Preston.”
“And?”
“He said you had signed guarantees before engagement.”
“Did you believe?”
“I wanted to.”
There.
Common phrase.
“Why?”
Her eyes filled.
“Because by then I was sleeping with him.”
No apology yet.
Just fact.
“How long?”
“Five months.”
The party happened night before. So affair began months after she knew? She said started 5 months, knew fraud 3 months. Fine.
“Did your father know?”
“About us?”
“Yes.”
“Not until six weeks ago.”
“What did he say?”
“That personal situation could not disrupt transaction.”
Of course.
“Why did he congratulate Preston?”
Bri looked down.
“Because Preston told him you had agreed privately to end engagement after merger closed.”
I laughed.
“He told your father I agreed?”
“Yes.”
“And why did he tell me to leave publicly?”
“He panicked.”
“About what?”
“You were questioning him about me.”
“That does not explain.”
She swallowed.
“My father planned to announce WSE consolidation that night to investors.”
There.
“The business announcement was going to happen after your engagement toast.”
“What consolidation?”
“WSE would acquire Wade East’s project assets and Sinclair would refinance.”
“Using my guarantee.”
“I thought you had agreed.”
“You knew three months ago the documents might be questionable.”
“I knew there were questions.”
“Did you ask me?”
“No.”
“Then you did not know.”
She cried.
I felt no urge comfort.
Bri continued:
“I called you because Dad told me if you started digging, lenders could freeze everything.”
“So you told me leave company alone.”
“Yes.”
“Why not tell truth?”
“Because the project would collapse.”
“How many people?”
“Contractors.”
“Buyers.”
“Investors.”
“Hundreds.”
Ah.
The justification.
Protect jobs.
Protect project.
Protect everyone by hiding fraud from woman whose identity made fraud possible.
I leaned back.
“Did you know Marcy impersonated me?”
“No.”
I watched.
Maybe true.
Evidence later.
“What did Dolores do?”
“More than Preston admits.”
That got my attention.
Bri’s attorney touched her arm.
She continued.
“Dolores handled financing paperwork.”
“She introduced Martin Cole during your father’s estate.”
My skin went cold.
“What?”
“She told Preston she knew your family financial history because she helped your father’s estate administrator with local connections.”
Dolores had not merely asked questions after meeting me.
She had access before.
How?
Martin Cole was Wade family business contact.
He became professional administrator for my father’s estate after Aunt Claire fell ill.
At the time I thought court appointed from local list.
Maybe Wade influence.
Maybe coincidence.
Now no.
“Did Preston know me before we met?”
Bri looked uncertain.
“I don’t know.”
That answer terrified.
Preston and I met at a charity development forum twenty-eight months ago.
Our first conversation felt spontaneous.
He asked about accounting.
We laughed about terrible coffee.
Had he already seen my name in estate file?
Had his mother?
Laura said:
“That question can be investigated.”
Evidence.
Bri then handed over her phone voluntarily through counsel.
Messages with Preston.
Some deleted recovered later.
One dated nearly two years earlier, months before engagement:
PRESTON: Mom says Carter girl has cleaner profile than expected. No debt besides car.
Bri was not yet affair partner? This message maybe sent to Bri as project coordinator business channel? Why would he tell her? They worked together; maybe their relationship already emotionally close. Fine.
BRI: Why are you running fiancée’s credit?
PRESTON: Not fiancée yet. Dad wants guarantor options.
My entire body went numb.
Not fiancée yet.
At that date, Preston and I had been dating four months.
Before proposal.
Before ring.
Before I ever reviewed his company books.
He was already running my credit.
May you like
The engagement had not created the fraud.
The fraud may have helped create the engagement.
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