Chapter 8
The criminal side moved faster after Megan’s statement.
Not fast enough for me.
Nothing felt fast enough anymore.
Detective Samuel Reed from the financial-crimes unit interviewed me for three hours.
He had a quiet voice and asked the same question in five different ways.
“Who had authorized banking access?”
“Ryan had limited access.”
“Could he legally initiate transfers?”
“Some routine ones under specified amounts.”
“Could he open new accounts?”
“No.”
“Could he borrow against the company?”
“No.”
“Could he change client payment destinations?”
“No.”
“Could he sign your name?”
“No.”
Every answer sounded obvious.
Yet Ryan had done all of it.
Detective Reed laid copies of the forged documents across the conference table.
“Do you recognize these signatures?”
“They’re attempts at mine.”
“Did you sign any of them?”
“No.”
“Did you give Ryan permission to sign for you?”
“No.”
“Ever?”
“For specific routine documents when clearly marked as authorized representative. Never pretending to be me.”
He nodded.
“Important distinction.”
Then he showed me the life-insurance note.
“Increase to $2M before transfer?”
My stomach tightened.
“I never wrote that.”
“Do you recognize the handwriting?”
I looked closely.
It resembled Ryan’s block printing.
But I didn’t want to guess.
“I think it could be his, but I’m not certain.”
“Good answer.”
“Is my life in danger?”
Detective Reed paused.
“We don’t currently have evidence of a plan to physically harm you.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
“No.”
I held his gaze.
He sighed.
“We treat anything involving financial motive and life insurance seriously. But that note alone does not prove violent intent.”
I nodded.
“What should I do?”
“Follow the protective order. Improve home security. Document unusual contact. Don’t meet Ryan alone.”
I had already changed the locks after receiving court permission.
Installed cameras.
Changed alarm codes.
My father temporarily moved into the guest room.
I hated needing any of it.
At work, things were barely holding together.
The suspended $1.4 million client project remained frozen.
Three vendors demanded earlier payment terms after rumors about the company spread.
An industry blog published a short item:
Leadership Dispute at Harper Design Group?
The article quoted “sources familiar with the matter.”
I knew exactly whose sources.
My staff saw it.
Clients saw it.
Competitors saw it.
Ryan wasn’t allowed inside my office, so he was attacking my reputation from outside.
I called a full staff meeting.
“We are not responding publicly.”
Marcus frowned.
“So we just let him say anything?”
“We respond to clients with facts. We don’t perform our divorce online.”
Melissa nodded.
“What do we tell vendors?”
“That ownership has not changed and operations continue.”
“And if they ask about the missing funds?”
“We say the matter is under investigation.”
I looked around.
“If any of you want to leave, I’ll understand.”
Nobody moved.
Priya folded her arms.
“Ryan asked me six months ago whether I thought you could run this place without him.”
I almost smiled.
“What did you say?”
“That I didn’t know what he actually did here.”
The room laughed.
It was the first time I had laughed at work all week.
I needed it.
Then Melissa said, “We’re staying.”
One by one, everyone agreed.
I went into my office and cried after they left.
Not because I was weak.
Because loyalty felt overwhelming after betrayal.
That afternoon, Vanessa finally agreed to speak through our attorneys.
We held a video conference.
She appeared on screen with her own lawyer beside her.
She was thirty-two.
Dark hair.
No makeup.
Exhausted eyes.
I had imagined hating her.
Instead, when I saw her, I felt almost nothing.
She looked at me.
“I’m sorry.”
Her attorney touched her arm.
Vanessa corrected herself.
“I understand we’re here to provide information.”
Rachel nodded.
“Tell us how you met Ryan.”
“At a supplier conference.”
“Did you know he was married?”
“Yes.”
I appreciated the honesty.
“What did he tell you about the marriage?”
“That they were separated but still living together for Sophie.”
My jaw tightened.
Vanessa looked at me.
“I know how that sounds.”
“Continue.”
“He said you knew he was dating.”
“I didn’t.”
“I know now.”
“When did the relationship become romantic?”
“About seven months ago.”
So he had cheated before or during the financial planning.
Maybe both.
Vanessa continued.
“He talked about opening L&R with Linda. He said you were an investor.”
“I wasn’t.”
“I understand.”
“What else?”
“He said he would eventually own Harper Design Group.”
“Eventually how?”
“At first, I assumed divorce settlement.”
“And later?”
“He started talking like ownership was already arranged.”
My pulse quickened.
“What did he say?”
“That paperwork was being prepared.”
“By whom?”
“He never said.”
Rachel leaned forward.
“Did he mention Emily signing anything?”
Vanessa hesitated.
“One night I asked why you would give up a successful company.”
“And?”
“He said, ‘She signs more things than she reads.’”
My skin crawled.
Vanessa continued.
“Later he said if necessary he could show that you had agreed to transfer it.”
“Did he explain how?”
“No.”
“Did you see documents?”
“One.”
“What document?”
“A draft agreement showing RHC Ventures buying Harper Design Group.”
The ten-dollar sale.
“Where?”
“In his car.”
“What did you say?”
“I asked whether you approved it.”
“He said yes.”
“And you believed him?”
“At the time.”
I looked at her.
“Why did you contact me?”
Her face changed.
“Because he scared me.”
“How?”
“After you called the bank, he came to my apartment.”
My body tensed.
“When?”
“Saturday afternoon.”
After his release.
“What happened?”
“He was angry. He said you were trying to ruin everything.”
“Did he threaten you?”
“Not directly.”
Her lawyer said, “Please describe his exact words.”
Vanessa looked down at her notes.
“He said, ‘Emily thinks the house and company make her untouchable. She’ll learn.’”
My fingers tightened.
“Anything else?”
“He asked me to sign a statement saying you knew about our relationship and the store.”
“Did you?”
“No.”
“He offered money?”
“Yes.”
“How much?”
“Twenty thousand.”
Rachel looked at me.
I stayed silent.
Vanessa said, “When I refused, he said I had already helped commit fraud and should think carefully about which side I wanted to be on.”
Her lawyer added, “We have preserved messages supporting this.”
Detective Reed would love those.
Then Vanessa looked directly at me.
“There’s something else.”
My stomach sank.
“There always is.”
She flinched.
I immediately regretted the comment.
She continued.
“Ryan once talked about your father.”
“My father?”
“He asked whether your father would inherit anything if you died.”
The room went silent.
I stopped breathing.
“When?”
“About two months ago.”
“What exactly did he ask?”
“He asked whether a spouse automatically inherits a business if the owner dies.”
My skin went cold.
“What did you say?”
“I told him I had no idea.”
“Did he explain why he was asking?”
“He said he was planning for all possibilities.”
Rachel’s expression hardened.
Vanessa continued.
“A week later, he asked whether business life-insurance policies can be increased without medical exams.”
I felt the room tilt.
My father was in the next room.
Sophie was at school.
For a moment I saw them without me.
Dad raising Sophie.
Ryan controlling the company.
Linda smiling.
I hated my mind for going there.
Rachel said firmly, “Emily.”
I looked at her.
“We have information. Not proof of physical intent.”
I nodded.
But Vanessa wasn’t finished.
“He also asked me something strange about your medication.”
“What medication?”
“He said you had anxiety medicine.”
“I don’t.”
“That’s what he told me.”
My stomach tightened.
“He asked whether certain medications could make someone confused or aggressive.”
Rachel leaned forward.
“Did he name one?”
Vanessa did.
I had never heard of it.
Detective Reed later told us it was a prescription sedative.
I did not have a prescription.
Neither did Ryan, as far as I knew.
That evening, I went home and checked everything.
Bathroom cabinets.
Kitchen drawers.
Nightstand.
Medicine cabinet.
Nothing unusual.
My father watched me.
“What are you looking for?”
“I don’t know.”
That was the truth.
At nine, Sophie was asleep.
Dad and I sat in the kitchen.
He poured coffee.
“You need sleep.”
“I need answers.”
“You won’t get all of them tonight.”
“I slept beside that man.”
Dad looked at me.
“I know.”
“I drank coffee he made.”
“I know.”
“I ate food he cooked.”
“Emily.”
“What if—”
“No.”
I looked at him.
“Don’t let your fear write facts that don’t exist yet.”
I hated how much he sounded like Rachel.
My phone rang.
Detective Reed.
“We executed a search warrant.”
I stood.
“Where?”
“The storage unit and Mr. Harper’s separate office space at L&R.”
My heart pounded.
“What did you find?”
“I can’t discuss everything.”
“Then tell me what affects my safety.”
Silence.
“Detective.”
“We found prescription medication not issued to Mr. Harper.”
My knees weakened.
“What medication?”
The same sedative Vanessa had named.
I gripped the counter.
“Where?”
“In a locked desk.”
“Why would he have it?”
“We’re investigating.”
“Was my name on it?”
“No.”
“Whose?”
Another pause.
“A woman named Linda Harper.”
I closed my eyes.
His mother.
“What else?”
“We found printed information about dosing.”
I couldn’t speak.
Dad stood.
Detective Reed continued.
“Emily, I need to ask you something.”
“What?”
“In the past six months, have you experienced unexplained dizziness, memory gaps, extreme fatigue, or confusion?”
My blood turned to ice.
Because suddenly I remembered three nights.
Three nights when Ryan had made me tea.
Three mornings when I had awakened late with pounding headaches.
One morning when Linda had been sitting in my kitchen before I even remembered inviting her over.
And a dinner two months earlier when Ryan told me I had become so tired lately that maybe I needed to “slow down and let him handle things.”
May you like
I gripped the phone.
“Yes.”
