Chapter 5 - The Price of Coming Home
Detective Ortiz immediately called for officers to be sent to the apartment.
No one was there when they arrived.
The front door was unlocked.
Keaton, Bernice, Dominic, and my identification documents were gone.
There were no signs of forced entry, but the dining room had been disturbed. One chair was overturned, a glass lay shattered near the kitchen, and the two cups of instant noodles remained on the table.
Cold.
Untouched.
A patrol officer found one drop of blood near the hallway.
Keaton did not answer his phone.
Neither did Bernice.
Austin’s number had been disconnected.
For the next four hours, Detective Ortiz’s team examined traffic cameras, bank records, and phone locations. The last signal from Keaton’s device came from an industrial neighborhood near the river.
“Do you think Dominic kidnapped him?” I asked.
Ortiz did not answer directly.
“We don’t know whether Mr. Hale is a victim, a participant, or both.”
That was the problem.
I no longer knew either.
By late afternoon, my company’s chief financial officer called me into an emergency meeting. I joined through video from Marissa’s office.
My new promotion had been announced less than twenty-four hours earlier.
Now three executives and a human resources director stared at me from the screen.
The CFO, Leonard Price, spoke first.
“Claire, we received an anonymous report alleging that you have undisclosed ownership in a property services company.”
My stomach dropped.
“It’s fraudulent.”
“The report includes state registration documents listing you as chief financial officer.”
“I’ve already filed a police report.”
“I understand. However, some of the company’s transactions involve vendors connected to our regional portfolio.”
That was new.
“What vendors?”
Leonard shared a file.
Hale Family Property Services had received payments from two maintenance contractors that worked with my employer.
The transactions were described as consulting fees.
I had approved contracts involving both vendors during the previous year.
“I never authorized those payments,” I said.
Marissa leaned toward the camera.
“We can provide the detective’s contact information and documentation of identity theft.”
The human resources director folded her hands.
“Until this is resolved, we need to place Claire on administrative leave.”
My promotion vanished before I had even sat behind the new desk.
My building access was suspended.
My work accounts were frozen.
My team was told only that I was taking personal leave.
After the meeting, I sat motionless in Marissa’s office.
Twenty-four hours earlier, I had been a regional finance director earning twelve thousand dollars a month after taxes.
Now my home was attached to fraudulent loans, my husband was missing, and my professional reputation was under investigation.
“I’m sorry,” Marissa said.
“They planned this.”
“I know.”
“No. They planned all of it. The business connections. The vendor payments. The timing of my promotion.”
Marissa frowned.
“Why would the promotion matter?”
“Because it raised my internal approval limit.”
The realization came slowly.
As regional finance director, I would have authority over larger contracts and broader vendor payments.
Keaton had not congratulated me because he had already known.
Or expected it.
My promotion was not merely useful to them.
It was the reason they needed me to keep paying everything at home while they controlled Keaton’s salary and prepared the next stage.
My personal phone rang.
Unknown number.
Detective Ortiz, standing near the window, gestured for me to answer on speaker.
“Hello?”
For several seconds, there was only breathing.
Then Keaton spoke.
“Claire.”
His voice sounded strained.
“Where are you?”
“I can’t tell you.”
“Are you hurt?”
A pause.
“Dominic wants the accounts reopened.”
“No.”
“He says you have until nine tonight.”
“What happens at nine?”
Another voice murmured in the background.
Keaton’s breathing quickened.
“He’ll release documents showing you took kickbacks from contractors.”
“He already sent them to my employer.”
Silence.
Then Keaton whispered, “That wasn’t supposed to happen yet.”
The words cut through me.
“You knew?”
“I knew he had documents. I didn’t know he would use them.”
“You helped create them.”
“Claire, please. I made mistakes, but I never wanted to ruin you.”
“You stole my identity before our wedding.”
Another pause.
“That was Austin’s idea.”
“And you went along with it.”
“I thought we would make enough money to pay everything back.”
“Did you marry me because of my credit?”
“No.”
The answer came quickly.
Too quickly.
I closed my eyes.
“Tell me the truth.”
“I loved you.”
“Loved?”
“I still love you.”
“Then tell me where you are.”
“I can’t.”
“Tell me where Dominic keeps the original records.”
The breathing on the other end stopped.
Detective Ortiz leaned closer.
Keaton lowered his voice.
“The old medical building.”
Bernice’s former workplace.
Before I could ask anything else, a loud crack sounded through the phone.
Keaton gasped.
Then Dominic’s voice filled the line.
“Mrs. Bennett, your husband has always lacked discipline.”
His tone was smooth and almost friendly.
“You have something I need,” he continued. “I have several things you need.”
“My identification documents?”
“Your identity is worth more than the paper it’s printed on.”
“What do you want?”
“Reopen the commercial accounts and authorize one final transfer.”
“How much?”
“Two hundred fifty thousand dollars.”
“I don’t have that kind of money.”
“You have access to it.”
He meant my company.
The accounts I could no longer access.
“I’ve been suspended.”
“Yes,” Dominic said. “That was unfortunate.”
“You caused it.”
“I created urgency.”
My hands curled into fists.
“If Keaton is injured—”
“Your husband signed every agreement willingly.”
“Then why are you holding him?”
“Because willingness changes when men realize prison is real.”
I heard Keaton groan in the background.
Dominic continued calmly.
“Nine tonight. After that, the police receive evidence proving you directed the entire operation.”
“You expect me to steal from my employer?”
“I expect you to decide whether your career matters more than your husband’s life.”
The call ended.
Detective Ortiz immediately began issuing instructions to her team.
I looked at the clock.
It was 5:17 p.m.
Less than four hours remained.
Then Marissa’s computer chimed.
An email had arrived from my suspended work account.
Someone was using my credentials.
May you like
The subject line contained only four words.
TRANSFER APPROVED BY CLAIRE BENNETT.
