Chapter 8 - Two Million Reasons to Lie
Rebecca Shaw arrived at Sarah's office carrying a banker’s box.
Inside were copies of documents that could end Thomas's career.
Or destroy mine.
She was forty-one, elegantly dressed, and visibly exhausted.
Her attorney sat beside her.
I studied the woman who had been sleeping with my husband.
I wanted to hate her.
But hatred was becoming exhausting.
And I needed answers.
Rebecca opened the box.
“I've already provided relevant records to the bank's internal investigators,” she said. “My attorney is coordinating any additional production through the proper channels.”
Sarah nodded.
“That's appropriate.”
Rebecca looked at me.
“I know you don't believe anything I say.”
“Correct.”
She accepted that.
“Thomas approached me in 2020. He wanted financing for Carolina Meridian.”
“Were you already involved with him?”
“No. That started later.”
“When?”
“2023.”
I felt the familiar sting.
Three years.
While I'd been celebrating anniversaries and making retirement plans.
Rebecca continued.
“The company initially handled legitimate equipment transactions. But over time, money began moving through accounts that didn't match the underlying invoices.”
Paul leaned forward.
“Do you have transaction records?”
“Some.”
She handed him a folder.
He examined the pages.
“These appear to be account statements.”
“Yes.”
“Who controlled the accounts?”
“Thomas and Mike had signing authority on the main operating account.”
“And Rose?”
Rebecca looked at me.
“Her name was on the ownership paperwork. But I never saw her initiate a transaction.”
I folded my hands.
“Then why didn't you contact me?”
Rebecca's eyes filled.
“Because Thomas told me you knew.”
I stared at her.
“He told everyone that.”
“I know.”
“Did you believe him?”
“For too long.”
Paul studied the records.
“The two-million-dollar balance you mentioned—was that money held in one account?”
“No. It was the combined balance of several related accounts at the time I reviewed them.”
“Was it profit?”
“I don't know.”
“Was it borrowed money?”
“Some of it may have been.”
Paul nodded.
“Then we need a full reconciliation.”
I almost smiled.
Even in the middle of disaster, numbers still demanded honesty.
Rebecca opened another folder.
“There's one account I want you to see.”
She slid a statement toward me.
The account was held under the name Whitaker Consulting Services.
I stared at it.
“That isn't my company.”
“I understand.”
The address was a mailbox service in Charlotte.
The account had received payments from several businesses.
Some were medical distributors.
Others were consulting firms.
One payment stood out.
$275,000.
Sender: Bluewater Advisory.
I remembered the name from the home equity records.
“Who owns Bluewater?”
Rebecca looked at her attorney.
He nodded.
“According to the records available to us, Mike Bennett is associated with the company.”
I leaned back.
Mike.
Always Mike.
The friend who had supposedly introduced Thomas to investments.
The man who had laughed at the birthday party.
The man who had helped pay the bill when my card failed.
I looked at Sarah.
“Can we recover any of this money?”
“Possibly. But first we need to establish what belongs to whom, whether the transactions were authorized, and whether any funds remain.”
Rebecca reached into the box again.
“There's something else.”
She removed a copy of a personal financial statement.
It listed my assets.
My business interests.
My retirement accounts.
Our home.
And a life insurance policy.
I stared at the final line.
“That's wrong.”
Sarah leaned closer.
“What?”
“The insurance amount.”
The statement listed a $1.5 million life insurance policy on me.
I had a policy.
But it was worth $500,000.
My father had encouraged me to buy it when I started my firm.
I'd kept it because it provided financial protection for my family.
“Where did the additional million come from?” I asked.
Rebecca shook her head.
“I don't know.”
I looked at the beneficiary information.
Thomas Whitaker.
My stomach tightened.
Sarah immediately said, “Rose, this statement doesn't prove an additional policy exists. It could be inaccurate or fabricated.”
“I understand.”
But my hands were trembling.
Rebecca looked down.
“Thomas once told me he had enough insurance to survive anything.”
Nobody spoke.
I looked at her.
“When?”
“Last winter.”
“Was he talking about business insurance?”
“I assumed he was.”
I stood and walked toward the window.
For twenty-two years, I'd believed my husband wanted a comfortable life.
A nice house.
Luxury cars.
Respect from his colleagues.
Now I was staring at evidence that he might have been building something entirely different.
A network of companies.
Accounts.
Loans.
Forged documents.
And a financial statement exaggerating the insurance on my life.
I turned toward Sarah.
“I want the insurance records verified.”
“Already on my list.”
“And I want to know whether Thomas has access to any accounts I haven't identified.”
“We'll work through that with the institutions.”
Rebecca cleared her throat.
“There's one thing I haven't told you.”
I looked at her.
“Of course there is.”
She winced.
“Thomas asked me to help him arrange a meeting with an insurance broker last year.”
“Why?”
“He said he wanted to update his family's financial protection.”
“Did you help?”
“I gave him a referral.”
I stared at her.
“Did you attend the meeting?”
“No.”
“Then how do you know what happened?”
“I don't.”
I sat down again.
For once, someone was admitting the limits of what she knew.
That mattered.
After Rebecca left, Sarah called the insurance company using the contact information from my existing policy.
The representative confirmed my original coverage.
But said a separate application had been submitted eighteen months earlier.
It had not resulted in an issued policy.
I felt some relief.
Then Sarah asked whether the application had been declined.
The representative couldn't disclose everything without additional verification.
But she confirmed that the application had been withdrawn.
“By whom?” I asked.
Sarah repeated the question.
The representative said the records listed the applicant's authorized contact.
Thomas.
I stared at the phone.
Then Sarah asked one final question.
“Was there a medical examination associated with that application?”
The representative paused.
“Yes.”
I went cold.
I'd never undergone an insurance examination for an additional policy.
Sarah requested the records through the appropriate authorization process.
We ended the call.
For several seconds, neither of us spoke.
Then Paul said, “Someone may have submitted information under Rose's identity.”
Sarah nodded.
“We don't know yet.”
My phone vibrated.
A message from an unknown number.
It contained a photograph.
Thomas stood beside a woman outside a medical clinic.
The woman was wearing a white coat.
May you like
Beneath the image were six words.
Ask him what happened in Asheville.
