Rebecca looked at Derek.
Then at
Claire.
“Well,” she said, “this is considerably more embarrassing than I expected.”
Derek struggled to stand.
“Who the hell are you?”
Rebecca ignored him.
“Cole, we found the money.”
My chest tightened.
“Where?”
She looked at Derek.
“Mostly here.”
Claire
stepped forward.
“That’s ridiculous.”
Rebecca opened a folder.
“Ridge Performance Holdings received seventy-two thousand dollars from an account jointly owned by Cole and Claire Mercer. Five weeks later, Ridge used forty thousand toward lease expansion for this facility. Another nineteen thousand went toward equipment. The remainder was used for payroll and personal expenses.”
Derek’s jaw clenched.
Claire said, “That money was mine.”
“Joint marital funds,” Rebecca replied.
Claire’s face twisted.
“You can’t just walk in here—”
“We can,” said the man beside Rebecca, “when Mr. Mercer invites us.”
He handed
me a document.
Derek laughed nervously.
“What is this supposed to be?”
I read the first line.
Then the second.
Then I looked at Rebecca.
“You’re sure?”
“Very.”
The document wasn’t from police.
It was from the bank.
The forged home-equity line had triggered a fraud investigation.
But that still wasn’t the twist.
Rebecca’s finger tapped another page.
“Tell him.”
I looked at the man.
He introduced himself as Martin Vale, attorney for Windlass Property Group.
I had never heard the name.
“Mr. Mercer,” he said, “did your late uncle ever explain the structure under which your house was purchased?”
I frowned.
“My uncle?”
Claire’s eyes flickered.
That was all I needed to see.
She knew something.
“No,” I said slowly. “He helped with the down payment when
Claire and I got married. Twenty thousand dollars.”
Martin shook his head.
“Not exactly.”
The gym disappeared around me.
“Your uncle didn’t give you twenty thousand dollars.”
