PART 4
Two days after my birthday, my lawyer said something that made my hand go cold around the phone.
“Emily, I need you to sit down before I tell you this.”
I was sitting at my father’s kitchen table already.
My father was across from me, drinking coffee and reading the newspaper. He noticed my expression immediately.
“What happened?”
I put the phone on speaker.
My lawyer, Karen Mitchell, continued.
“I reviewed the preliminary financial documents you sent me. There are several accounts and transactions that don’t make sense.”
I swallowed.
“What kind of transactions?”
“Large ones.”
“How large?”
There was a pause.
“Large enough that I don’t think you should confront Derek about them.”
My father slowly lowered his newspaper.
Karen continued.
“During your marriage, you told me Derek handled most of the household finances.”
“Yes.”
“You also said he convinced you to transfer your salary into a joint account.”
“Yes.”
“And that he gave you an allowance?”
My face burned.
“Yes.”
“Emily, how much money were you earning each month?”
“About six thousand dollars after taxes.”
“And how much did Derek give you for personal expenses?”
I looked at my father.
“Four hundred.”
Silence.
Karen exhaled.
“That means he controlled approximately five thousand six hundred dollars of your income every month.”
I closed my eyes.
I had never calculated it that way.
For three years, I had accepted his explanation.
He said we were saving.
He said he was investing.
He said he was protecting our future.
He said I was bad with money.
Karen’s voice became quieter.
“I found something else.”
“What?”
“There is a company registered under Derek’s name.”
My heart began beating faster.
“What company?”
“Bennett Strategic Holdings.”
My father’s expression changed.
“Bennett?” he repeated.
Karen heard him.
“Yes. And Emily, your name appears on some of the original documents.”
I stared at the phone.
“My name?”
“Yes.”
“I never signed anything.”
“That’s what worries me.”
My father stood.
“Can you send us the documents?”
“I already have.”
My phone vibrated.
An email appeared.
I opened it.
The first document was a corporate registration.
The second was a bank statement.
The third was a loan agreement.
The fourth was a property deed.
I stared at the numbers.
Then I stopped breathing.
“Dad…”
He came around the table.
“What?”
I pointed at the screen.
“That’s our house.”
Karen spoke.
“The house is listed as collateral for a business loan.”
My father looked at me.
“How much?”
I whispered the amount.
“Four hundred and eighty thousand dollars.”
Dad’s face hardened.
“What business?”
Karen answered.
“That is what I’m trying to determine.”
I scrolled through the documents.
Then I saw something that made my stomach turn.
A transfer.
$75,000.
Another.
$42,000.
Another.
$31,500.
All from our joint savings account.
And all of them had been transferred into an account I didn’t recognize.
Karen said:
“Emily, there’s more.”
I looked up.
“What?”
“Your husband appears to have opened a credit line using your personal information.”
I couldn’t speak.
My father took the phone from my hand.
“Are you saying he used her identity?”
“I’m saying we need to investigate before we make that conclusion.”
Dad looked at me.
“How long has he been doing this?”
Karen replied:
“At least two years.”
Two years.
The same two years when Derek had told me we couldn’t afford vacations.
The same two years when he had complained about grocery prices.
The same two years when he told me I needed to stop buying coffee because we were “building our future.”
I remembered the nights he sat at the dining table working on his laptop.
I remembered asking what he was doing.
“Investing,” he always said.
I had believed him.
Karen continued.
“There’s one more thing.”
“What?”
“Your signature appears on the documents.”
My heart sank.
“I told you. I didn’t sign them.”
“I believe you.”
“But then how—”
“I don’t know yet.”
Dad’s voice became firm.
“Find out.”
“I will.”
Karen paused.
“And Emily?”
“Yes?”
“Don’t go back to that house alone.”
“I won’t.”
“And don’t communicate with Derek except through me.”
“Okay.”
After the call ended, I sat silently.
My father returned my phone.
“Sweetheart.”
“I feel sick.”
“I know.”
“He stole from me.”
Dad shook his head.
“He didn’t just steal money.”
I looked at him.
“He stole your trust.”
I started crying.
And this time, my father didn’t tell me everything would be okay.
He simply sat beside me.
Because sometimes pretending the future is certain isn’t what someone needs.
Sometimes they just need someone willing to sit beside them while the future is frightening.
Three weeks later, Karen called again.
“Emily, we found the signature.”
I immediately sat upright.
“Whose?”
“Yours.”
My stomach dropped.
“But I didn’t sign anything.”
“I know.”
She paused.
“Derek scanned your driver’s license and used a digital signature authorization.”
I stared at the wall.
“How?”
“We’re still investigating.”
Then she said something else.
“The money from the business account wasn’t invested.”
“What was it used for?”
Karen hesitated.
“Personal expenses.”
“What kind?”
“Luxury purchases. Hotel stays. Jewelry. Restaurants. Travel.”
I closed my eyes.
“Travel?”
“Yes.”
“With whom?”
