Chapter 3 - THE ACCOUNT NO ONE TOLD ME ABOUT
Mr. Harris led me into the kitchen.
The room smelled like smoke from the grill and expensive bourbon.
He closed the door.
“You're sure you want to do this tonight?”
I nodded.
“Tell me everything.”
He placed three documents on the counter.
The first was a bank statement.
The second was a corporate filing.
The third was a photograph.
I picked up the bank statement.
My name appeared at the top.
My stomach tightened.
“This is our household account.”
“No.”
Mr. Harris tapped the page.
“That's what you were told.”
I looked closer.
The account number was different from the one I knew.
“This account was opened four years ago.”
“Yes.”
“By whom?”
“Bradley.”
My chest tightened.
“But why is my name on it?”
“Because he added you as an authorized signer.”
I looked at the transactions.
Hundreds of thousands of dollars had moved through the account.
Some were legitimate.
Others were not.
“What's this?”
“Payments to Starlight Holdings.”
“What is that?”
“A company registered in Delaware.”
I stared at him.
“Does Bradley own it?”
“Indirectly.”
I looked up.
“Through whom?”
Mr. Harris slid the photograph toward me.
It showed Bradley standing beside his cousin Eric.
Eric was one of the men who had held my arms.
Behind them was a warehouse.
A company sign hung above the entrance.
Starlight Logistics.
I felt sick.
“Why would my husband need a company I know nothing about?”
“He doesn't.”
Mr. Harris paused.
“His mother does.”
The room seemed to tilt.
“Barbara?”
He nodded.
“The company was formed two years before you met Bradley.”
I looked at the documents again.
“Then why is money from my account going there?”
“That is what we need to determine.”
I sat down.
For years, I had believed Bradley was simply careless with money.
He spent too much.
His mother demanded too much.
Family emergencies always appeared at the worst possible time.
But I had never imagined this.
“There's more.”
Mr. Harris opened the third file.
Inside was a copy of a property deed.
I recognized the address immediately.
The house we lived in.
My house.
Or what I had believed was our house.
“What is this?”
“You purchased this property before the wedding.”
“Yes.”
“You put down the entire deposit.”
“Yes.”
“And Bradley moved in afterward.”
I nodded.
Mr. Harris pointed to a signature.
“Three months after your wedding, he refinanced the property.”
I stared.
“I never signed this.”
“We know.”
My hands went cold.
“Then who did?”
Mr. Harris looked at me.
“That's the problem.”
He showed me the signature.
It looked like mine.
Almost.
But the lower curve was wrong.
I remembered the wedding.
The honeymoon.
The chaos afterward.
Bradley had told me he needed paperwork handled quickly because the mortgage company had made an error.
I'd trusted him.
Apparently, he'd been counting on that.
“What are you saying?”
“I believe someone forged your signature.”
My throat tightened.
“On my house?”
“Yes.”
“And the bank approved it?”
“Because someone provided additional identification.”
“Who?”
Mr. Harris didn't answer immediately.
Then he placed a copy of the identification on the table.
It was Barbara's driver's license.
I stared at it.
“No.”
“She may have been involved.”
“May have?”
“We need evidence before making accusations.”
I looked through the rest of the file.
Then I found a handwritten note.
My handwriting.
But I hadn't written it.
If anything happens to me, look inside the blue coat.
I looked up.
“What blue coat?”
Mr. Harris shook his head.
“I don't know.”
A sound came from the hallway.
We both stopped.
Someone was listening.
Mr. Harris quickly gathered the papers.
I opened the door.
Nobody was there.
But a wet footprint crossed the hardwood floor.
Someone from the pool had come inside.
I followed the footprints.
They led upstairs.
To the bedroom.
The blue coat hung inside Bradley's closet.
I pulled it down.
Nothing.
Then I felt something hard sewn into the lining.
I cut the thread with a pair of scissors.
A small brass key fell into my palm.
Attached to it was a tag.
BOX 214.
I looked at Mr. Harris.
“Do you know what this opens?”
He shook his head.
“No.”
Then my phone buzzed.
A text from an unknown number appeared.
You should have stayed in the pool.
I stared at it.
Mr. Harris read over my shoulder.
Then another message appeared.
Box 214 contains the reason Bradley married you.
I felt the blood drain from my face.
May you like
Because suddenly, the question wasn't whether my husband had betrayed me.
It was whether our entire marriage had been built around something I never knew existed.
