Chapter 9 - The Man Who Helped My Husband Cheat Us
Victor Shaw did not sound frightened.
Men like Victor rarely sounded frightened.
They sounded inconvenienced.
He asked Patricia to meet privately.
She refused.
“You can speak with our attorneys present.”
Victor sighed.
“That makes things difficult.”
“They are already difficult.”
He went quiet.
Then said, “Ryan lied to me.”
Patricia’s expression remained hard.
“Get in line.”
Victor claimed he believed Ryan had legitimate authority to negotiate Hawthorne.
He insisted the consulting relationships with board members were unrelated.
Nobody believed him.
But then he offered information.
“I know where Ryan is.”
My heart jumped.
Patricia looked toward the screen where I was still connected from Seattle.
“Where?”
Victor hesitated.
“He contacted me last night.”
“What did he want?”
“Money.”
“How much?”
“Five hundred thousand.”
“For what?”
“He didn’t say.”
“Did you give it to him?”
“No.”
Victor sounded almost offended.
“I’m not suicidal.”
Patricia leaned back.
“Where is he?”
“A lodge outside Government Camp.”
Detective Collins was contacted immediately.
By the time officers reached the location, Ryan was gone.
Again.
But this time he left something behind.
A laptop.
He had smashed the screen and removed the hard drive.
Investigators also found empty whiskey bottles, financial papers, and a prepaid phone.
One outgoing call had been made repeatedly.
To a number in Boise, Idaho.
The number belonged to Rachel Mercer.
Ryan’s younger half sister.
A woman I had never met.
Because according to Ryan, Rachel wanted nothing to do with the family.
That was only partly true.
Rachel was Harold Mercer’s daughter from his first marriage.
She was forty-one.
She had moved to Idaho after a major argument with Patricia and Ryan fifteen years earlier.
When Detective Collins reached her, Rachel agreed to speak.
She did not sound surprised that Ryan was in trouble.
“He always thought he was owed everything,” she said.
I asked, “When did you last speak to him?”
“Last night.”
“What did he want?”
“Dad’s documents.”
Patricia frowned.
“What documents?”
“The original trust amendment.”
Patricia went pale.
“What amendment?”
Rachel laughed bitterly.
“You still don’t know?”
The silence became heavy.
“Know what?” Patricia asked.
Rachel stopped laughing.
“Dad changed the Hawthorne trust.”
Patricia stared at us.
“When?”
“Before he died.”
“That’s impossible.”
“He sent me a copy.”
“Why?”
“Because he didn’t trust Ryan.”
I felt a chill.
Harold had known.
Maybe not about everything.
But enough.
Rachel explained that months before his death, Harold discovered Ryan trying to arrange unauthorized loans against family assets.
He confronted him.
Ryan promised it was a misunderstanding.
Harold did not believe him.
So he amended the Hawthorne trust.
Patricia remained trustee.
But if she became unable to serve, control did not pass to Ryan.
It passed to Rachel.
And there was another clause.
If Ryan attempted to improperly transfer or encumber the property, his beneficial interest could be suspended pending review.
Ryan had been trying to find the original amendment.
“Why didn’t I know?” Patricia whispered.
Rachel’s answer was painful.
“Dad told me you were exhausted. He said he would explain after his surgery.”
Harold never came home from that surgery.
He died from complications.
His attorney apparently filed the amendment, but a merger between law firms caused parts of the old file to be archived incorrectly.
Ryan had probably believed the amendment disappeared.
Until recently.
“How did he find out?” I asked.
Rachel sighed.
“I told him.”
Patricia stared at the phone.
“Why?”
“Because he called me six months ago pretending he wanted to make peace.”
Ryan.
Always finding the weakest door.
Rachel had told him there was no point fighting over Hawthorne because their father had protected it.
Ryan then began asking questions.
She became suspicious and stopped responding.
Last night he demanded the copy.
“I told him to go to hell.”
For the first time since this began, Patricia smiled.
“Good.”
Rachel continued.
“But he said something else.”
“What?”
“He said Emma had ruined everything.”
My skin prickled.
“What exactly?”
“That you were going to take half his money and destroy his reputation.”
I almost laughed.
“What money?”
Rachel paused.
“That’s what I asked.”
“And?”
“He said I had no idea what he’d built.”
That sentence worried everyone.
What had Ryan built?
The answer came two days later.
Federal investigators traced Cascade Consulting to four additional shell companies.
Ryan had been skimming vendor payments in small increments for years.
Not hundreds of thousands.
Millions.
Preliminary estimate: $2.8 million.
Patricia sat in my sister’s living room when we received the update.
She had driven north because she refused to let me stay alone.
Her face went gray.
“Two point eight?”
Thomas nodded over video.
“And still counting.”
Lauren’s missing inheritance was part of it.
My stolen identity had been part of it.
Hawthorne was supposed to be the final giant score.
Once Ryan controlled it, he could have made millions more.
And after selling it, he apparently intended to disappear.
With Lauren.
The unborn baby.
And enough money to create a new life.
Except there was one problem.
Ryan had told Lauren they were going to California.
Victor Shaw told investigators Ryan had asked about transferring money to the Cayman Islands.
And Rachel said Ryan had once mentioned Costa Rica.
Three future destinations.
Three different stories.
Ryan had been lying to everyone.
Including Lauren.
That evening, Lauren called me.
Her voice was strange.
“Emma, I found something in Ryan’s things.”
“What?”
“A second passport.”
I sat upright.
“In what name?”
She read it.
“Daniel Robert Cole.”
Cole.
The same last name as Diane Cole.
The dead assistant.
My heart started pounding.
“Send a photo to Rebecca.”
“I already did.”
Ten minutes later, Rebecca called.
“Emma.”
“Yes?”
“The passport appears sophisticated.”
“Real?”
“Possibly fraudulent. Investigators are checking.”
“Why Daniel?”
“No idea.”
But I knew one thing.
Ryan had been preparing to run.
And he had not planned to take Lauren with him.
The proof arrived the next morning.
Inside the passport wallet was a handwritten list.
Flight numbers.
Bank codes.
A date.
August 18.
Six days away.
And beside the flight number were two initials.
R.M.
And E.M.
Lauren had expected her initials.
May you like
L.W.
Instead, Ryan had written mine.
