Chapter 6
The photograph was designed to survive a quick glance.
That was the point.
Same height.
Same blonde hair.
Similar coat.
The woman’s face looked enough like mine that someone processing a loan application might not question it.
But it wasn’t me.
The more we examined it, the clearer it became.
The jawline was wrong.
The hands were older.
The gold bracelet was unmistakable.
Patricia had worn it at my wedding.
A Cartier bracelet Daniel claimed had belonged to his grandmother.
I remembered Patricia holding up her champagne glass that night, the bracelet flashing beneath the lights.
“To family,” she had toasted.
Now that memory made me sick.
Sandra leaned toward the laptop.
“That’s Patricia.”
“You’re sure?” Laura asked.
“Yes.”
“Why would she impersonate Emily in person?”
Sandra shook her head.
“I don’t know.”
My father did.
“Because someone at the lender was helping them.”
Laura looked at him.
“That’s possible.”
Dad pointed to the photograph.
“If a lender requires in-person verification, a vaguely similar woman wearing sunglasses and using someone else’s ID shouldn’t be enough.”
In the photograph, Patricia—or whoever it was—wasn’t wearing sunglasses.
That made it worse.
Someone had seen her face.
Someone had chosen not to care.
Laura immediately contacted the lender’s attorney.
By noon, we had another problem.
Northbridge denied the photograph came from its own verification system.
Their attorney claimed the image had been uploaded by an independent loan broker.
His name was Martin Vale.
I recognized it.
Not the man.
The name.
“Wait.”
I ran upstairs.
Dad followed.
“What are you looking for?”
“A Christmas card.”
I opened the bottom drawer of my desk.
Receipts.
Old notebooks.
Birthday cards.
Then I found it.
A thick cream envelope.
The card had arrived the previous December.
I had barely looked at it before tossing it aside.
Daniel had told me Martin was an old business contact.
I handed it to Dad.
The message inside read:
Daniel and Emily,
To a prosperous year ahead. Looking forward to helping the Mercer family turn opportunity into security.
Martin Vale
Dad read it twice.
“You met him?”
“Never.”
“Yet he addressed you by name.”
“I assumed Daniel talked about me.”
Dad pulled out his phone and photographed the card.
Back downstairs, Laura had more news.
“Martin Vale isn’t just a loan broker.”
“What is he?”
“He’s Daniel’s business partner.”
There was that invisible floor dropping beneath me again.
“In Mercer Holdings?”
“No. A separate company.”
“How many companies does my husband have?”
“At least four.”
Nathan stared at her.
“Four?”
“Possibly more.”
I sank into a chair.
Three years of marriage.
I didn’t know my husband had four companies.
I knew what brand of toothpaste he preferred.
I knew he hated mushrooms.
I knew he slept on his left side.
I knew the scar on his shoulder came from falling off a bicycle when he was nine.
But I didn’t know he controlled four businesses.
That realization hurt in a way I couldn’t explain.
We spend years collecting details about the people we love and mistake those details for truth.
They aren’t the same.
Laura continued.
“Vale Development Partners was involved in Ridgeway Commons.”
“The failed investment.”
“Yes.”
“Daniel put two hundred thousand into it.”
“Maybe.”
“What does that mean?”
“There’s no record of Mercer Holdings investing two hundred thousand dollars.”
Dad’s eyes narrowed.
“Where did it go?”
“We’re still following the transfers.”
Sandra sat silently near the end of the table.
I had almost forgotten she was there.
Then she spoke.
“Martin.”
We looked at her.
“What about him?” I asked.
She swallowed.
“Patricia knows him.”
“We know.”
“No. I mean she knows him.”
Something in her tone changed the room.
“How?” Laura asked.
Sandra hesitated.
“They dated.”
I stared.
“When?”
“Years ago.”
“How many years?”
“Before Daniel was born.”
Nobody moved.
Nathan slowly turned toward me.
I almost laughed.
The absurdity was becoming unbearable.
“Are you telling me Martin Vale might be Daniel’s father?”
Sandra’s eyes widened.
“I didn’t say that.”
“You didn’t have to.”
She shook her head quickly.
“Patricia married Daniel’s father, Richard, after she and Martin broke up. That’s all I know.”
Dad asked, “Is Richard alive?”
“No. He died when Daniel was seventeen.”
I had known that part.
Daniel rarely talked about his father.
He described him as distant and controlling.
Patricia spoke about Richard like a saint when anyone else was around and like a monster when we were alone.
Depending on what argument she wanted to win.
Laura closed one file.
“We need facts, not theories.”
She was right.
But the theory had already taken root.
My phone buzzed.
A text from an unknown number.
STOP DIGGING.
I stared at it.
Then another.
YOU DON’T KNOW WHAT YOU’RE DESTROYING.
I handed the phone to Laura.
Nathan went to the window.
Dad’s jaw tightened.
“Can they trace it?”
“Maybe.”
The third message arrived.
YOUR FATHER CAN’T PROTECT YOU FOREVER.
Nathan immediately called Officer Ramirez.
I wasn’t scared at first.
Then a photograph arrived.
My house.
Taken from across the street.
Minutes ago.
Nathan threw open the front door.
Dad stopped him.
“Don’t.”
“Someone’s out there.”
“And running into the street helps how?”
Nathan swore.
Dad moved to the window without exposing himself.
Laura closed the blinds.
Sandra started shaking.
“I shouldn’t have come.”
I looked at her.
“Why?”
“Because Patricia will know.”
“She already knows.”
“No.”
Sandra stood.
“You don’t understand.”
“What don’t I understand?”
She clutched her purse.
“Patricia doesn’t lose gracefully.”
Neither did my father, but I kept that thought to myself.
Officer Ramirez arrived twenty minutes later.
She reviewed the messages.
Then the photograph.
“We’ll increase patrols around the house.”
“Do you think Daniel sent them?” I asked.
“We don’t know.”
“He’s under a no-contact order.”
“If it’s him, this would violate it.”
“What about Patricia?”
“She’s not currently prohibited from contacting you unless there’s an order against her.”
Laura spoke.
“We’re filing for one.”
Ramirez nodded.
Then turned to Sandra.
“You’re the notary?”
Sandra stiffened.
“Yes.”
“We need to talk.”
Sandra looked at me.
For a moment, I saw pure panic.
Then she nodded.
“I’ll tell you everything.”
Officer Ramirez took her into the living room.
Nathan walked outside to speak with the second officer.
Dad stood beside me in the kitchen.
“You should leave the house tonight.”
“No.”
“Emily.”
“I’m not running away.”
“This isn’t running.”
“It feels like it.”
Dad sighed.
“Your mother used to say the same thing.”
I froze.
Dad almost never mentioned Mom.
She had died six years earlier after a short, brutal battle with cancer.
“What?”
“She hated letting people help her.”
I looked away.
“I’m not Mom.”
“No.”
His voice softened.
“But you inherited her talent for turning independence into a weapon against yourself.”
I almost smiled.
Almost.
Then Laura’s laptop chimed.
She opened an incoming email.
“Bank records.”
We gathered around.
The transfer history from the first loan had arrived.
Laura traced each line.
“One hundred thousand to Mercer Holdings.”
“One hundred twenty thousand to Patricia.”
“Sixty thousand to Vale Development Partners.”
“Forty thousand to another account.”
She stopped.
“What?”
“This account belongs to a woman named Rebecca Shaw.”
My heart tightened for reasons I didn’t understand.
“Who is she?”
Laura searched.
Thirty seconds later, a social media profile appeared.
Rebecca Shaw.
Thirty-two.
Brunette.
Marketing consultant.
And in one photograph posted nine months earlier, she stood beside Daniel at a charity event.
His hand rested on her lower back.
I stared at the picture.
Laura said nothing.
Neither did Dad.
I clicked the next image.
Daniel and Rebecca at a restaurant.
Another.
Daniel and Rebecca at a beach.
The captions never called him her boyfriend.
But they didn’t need to.
The dates stretched back almost a year.
I felt strangely calm.
“Of course,” I whispered.
Nathan returned just as I pushed the laptop away.
“What?”
I looked at him.
“My husband didn’t just steal from me.”
I swallowed.
“He was cheating on me too.”
My phone buzzed again.
This time the message came from Daniel’s real number.
I’M COMING OVER. WE NEED TO TALK BEFORE YOU RUIN EVERYTHING.
The front security camera chimed.
Nathan checked his phone.
His expression darkened.
May you like
“He’s already here.”
Then someone pounded on my front door.
