Chapter 3 - The Account With My Name On It
Thomas turned the laptop toward me.
At first, I saw nothing unusual.
Numbers.
Dates.
Bank codes.
Then I saw the account holder.
EMMA MERCER.
My stomach tightened.
“That isn’t mine.”
Thomas nodded slowly.
“I was afraid you’d say that.”
Patricia moved closer.
“What exactly are we looking at?”
“A brokerage account opened eleven months ago.”
“In Emma’s name?”
“Yes.”
I stared at Thomas.
“I have never seen this account.”
Lauren was still sitting at the table with tears running silently down her face.
Nobody seemed to remember she was there.
Thomas enlarged the document.
The account contained just over $412,000.
For half a second, I thought Ryan had somehow hidden money for us.
Then Thomas showed me the transaction history.
Money had entered the account from Mercer Development vendors.
Then left.
Some went to North River Lifestyle Holdings.
Some went to Nevada.
Some went to a company called Cascade Consulting.
My name was on every authorization.
My electronic signature appeared at the bottom.
But I had signed none of them.
I felt cold.
“Ryan forged my signature.”
Thomas didn’t answer immediately.
Patricia did.
“He used you.”
Lauren whispered, “Oh my God.”
I turned toward her.
She flinched.
For seven years, Lauren had known everything about me.
My mother’s cancer scare.
My miscarriage.
My fear of flying.
My fights with Ryan.
My stupid hope that we might have a baby one day.
Now she sat in my kitchen wearing the coat I bought her, after sleeping with my husband, acting shocked that he was capable of betrayal.
Something dark and bitter rose inside me.
“You should leave.”
“Emma—”
“Now.”
She stood.
“I know you hate me.”
“You don’t know anything about what I feel.”
She wiped her cheeks.
“I’m sorry.”
I looked at her.
“No. You’re scared.”
Her lips parted.
“Sorry comes before you get caught.”
She looked toward Patricia as though searching for help.
Patricia gave her none.
Lauren walked to the door.
Before she left, she turned back.
“Ryan told me you two were basically separated.”
I laughed once.
“We ate dinner together Tuesday.”
Her face fell.
“He said you slept in different rooms.”
“We don’t.”
“He said—”
“Lauren.”
She stopped.
“You were my best friend. You didn’t need Ryan to tell you what my marriage looked like. You were in my house every week.”
Her eyes filled again.
I opened the door.
She left.
I locked it.
Then I returned to the table.
Thomas was still staring at the false account.
“We need an attorney,” he said.
“I already have one.”
Patricia looked surprised.
“When did you hire an attorney?”
“Three weeks ago.”
“You suspected this for three weeks?”
“I suspected the money. I suspected the affair longer.”
Patricia looked wounded.
Not offended.
Wounded.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because he’s your son.”
She nodded.
A tear collected in one eye but didn’t fall.
“That doesn’t make him innocent.”
At nine fourteen, my attorney called.
Rebecca Sloan had the kind of voice that made people stop improvising.
“Emma, are you alone?”
“No. Patricia and Thomas are here.”
“Good. Put me on speaker.”
I did.
Rebecca got straight to the point.
“The forged account changes things.”
Thomas leaned closer.
“I agree.”
Rebecca continued.
“I’ve contacted the bank’s fraud department. Nobody should move anything. Emma, do not confront Ryan about the account.”
“He already left.”
“Do you know where he went?”
“Probably the office.”
Patricia shook her head.
“He won’t get upstairs.”
Rebecca paused.
“What does that mean?”
Patricia answered.
“I revoked his executive access.”
Even Rebecca sounded impressed.
“Excellent.”
At 9:32, Ryan called me.
I let it ring.
Then again.
Then again.
On the fourth call, Rebecca said, “Answer. Record mentally, not electronically unless your attorney confirms Oregon recording requirements.”
I answered on speaker.
Ryan was screaming.
“What the hell did you tell my mother?”
I stayed calm.
“Good morning to you too.”
“Security won’t let me into the building.”
“That sounds inconvenient.”
“You think this is funny?”
“No.”
“You’re destroying my life because I slept with someone?”
Patricia closed her eyes.
I asked, “Who?”
Silence.
Ryan realized what he had admitted.
“Emma.”
“Who did you sleep with?”
“Don’t do this.”
“Say her name.”
He hung up.
Patricia sat down heavily.
Sometimes people can prepare themselves for facts without preparing themselves for hearing them spoken aloud.
Thomas’s phone rang.
He answered.
His face became serious.
“Yes.”
Pause.
“When?”
Longer pause.
“Send everything to me.”
He hung up.
“What?” Patricia asked.
“One of the vendors involved in those transfers just contacted our finance director.”
My pulse quickened.
“Why?”
“Because Ryan called him fifteen minutes ago.”
“What did he want?”
Thomas looked at Patricia.
“He asked the vendor to delete invoices.”
Patricia whispered something I had never heard her say in seven years.
“Stupid son of a bitch.”
Rebecca’s voice came through the phone.
“Preserve that communication immediately.”
The next two hours moved fast.
Emails.
Calls.
Passwords changed.
Financial access frozen.
The board meeting postponed.
Rebecca sent someone to retrieve business records from our home office.
At eleven twenty, Ryan finally returned.
He didn’t knock.
He used his key.
Or tried to.
The lock had been changed at nine.
He stood outside pounding on the door.
“Emma!”
Patricia moved toward the hallway.
I stopped her.
“No.”
“He’s my son.”
“And he’s angry.”
She understood.
Ryan hit the door again.
“I know you’re in there!”
I stepped close enough that he could hear me through the wood.
“You need to leave.”
“This is my house!”
“Both our names are on it.”
“Open the damn door!”
Rebecca was still on the phone.
“Emma, do not open that door.”
Ryan shouted again.
Then everything became quiet.
Too quiet.
I looked through the side window.
Ryan was gone.
His SUV remained at the curb.
I felt the first flicker of fear.
“Where did he go?”
Thomas stood.
A crash came from the backyard.
Patricia gasped.
Ryan had climbed over the fence.
A second later, the back door rattled.
Then glass shattered.
I stepped backward.
Patricia yelled, “Ryan!”
He reached through the broken pane, unlocked the door, and stormed inside.
His right hand was bleeding.
His eyes were wild.
“What did you find?”
That was the first thing he said.
Not I’m sorry.
Not we need to talk.
What did you find?
Thomas quietly moved between us.
“Ryan, leave.”
“Stay out of this.”
Ryan looked at me.
“What did you find?”
I knew then.
The affair wasn’t what frightened him.
The missing savings wasn’t what frightened him.
Even losing his job wasn’t what frightened him.
He was terrified of whatever was hidden behind those financial transfers.
I lifted my chin.
“I found enough.”
His face changed.
He lunged toward the hallway.
Toward our home office.
Thomas grabbed his arm.
Ryan shoved him hard.
Patricia screamed.
Thomas crashed against the table.
My phone was already in my hand.
I dialed 911.
Ryan froze.
“You wouldn’t.”
I stared at him.
“You don’t know me anymore.”
He backed toward the door.
Then smiled.
It was not the smile from 6:17 that morning.
This one was ugly.
“You think those bank records prove anything?”
I said nothing.
He stepped outside.
Before leaving, he looked directly at me.
“You should ask Lauren what she signed.”
Then he disappeared through the backyard.
The police arrived eight minutes later.
But Ryan was gone.
And when I finally searched the home office that afternoon, I found an empty space behind the filing cabinet.
Something had been removed recently.
Something rectangular.
Something heavy.
There were scrape marks on the floor.
And taped beneath the desk was a tiny handwritten note.
May you like
Three words.
LAUREN HAS COPY.
