Chapter 7: The Morning Everything Opened Up
Patricia's office at nine the next morning.
David Reeves was already there when I arrived.
He was younger than his voice suggested — mid-forties, careful eyes, a folder already open on his knee.
He stood when I walked in and shook my hand without ceremony.
Patricia introduced us briefly and closed the door.
"Let's start with what we each have," she said.
David went first.
Purely Vanessa LLC had been registered twenty-six months ago.
The registered agent was listed as a man named Scott Briggs.
I didn't know the name.
Patricia wrote it down without reaction.
"Scott Briggs is Nathan Carter's college roommate," David said.
"Currently employed by a mid-size property investment firm.
He has no active role in the LLC.
His name appears only as the registered agent — essentially a legal placeholder."
"So Nathan used a friend to obscure his connection to the LLC," Patricia said.
"That is what the paperwork suggests."
"What was the LLC used for?" I asked.
"On paper, it's a lifestyle and events consulting business.
In practice, our investigation found minimal business activity.
Two client invoices in twenty-six months.
The remaining income came from a single repeating bank transfer."
He looked at me.
"From your joint account," I said.
"Yes."
Patricia leaned forward.
"Who filed the original complaint?"
"A former client of the LLC," David said.
"She paid a deposit for event services that were never delivered.
When she attempted to recover the funds, she discovered that the LLC had no real assets and no real operations.
She engaged our firm to trace where the money had gone."
"And it led back to Nathan," I said.
"It led back to the account structure.
Your name appearing on the source account flagged you as a person of interest — either as a knowing participant or as a victim." He paused.
"Your statement yesterday made the distinction clear."
Patricia set her pen down.
"What stage is the investigation at?"
"We have prepared a referral to the state financial crimes unit.
We were waiting to determine whether Mrs.
Carter would cooperate or contest."
"She cooperates fully," Patricia said.
"Then we are ready to move." He looked at me again.
"I should tell you — Nathan Carter was contacted by our firm two weeks ago.
He was asked about his involvement with the LLC.
He denied any connection to the transfers."
The room was very quiet.
"He denied it," I said.
"In writing."
I thought about him standing at Claire's front door the night before.
*I can explain.
We can talk about all of it.* He had wanted me to stop.
Not because he was sorry.
Because the walls were already closing in and he needed more time.
"He knew the investigation was coming," I said.
"That's why he wanted me to back off."
"That is consistent with the timeline," David said.
I sat with that for a moment.
Twelve years.
The mortgage.
The school fees.
His mother's medical bills.
Every job he hadn't held, every gap I had filled quietly so the family kept moving forward.
And underneath all of it, a transfer going out every month on the fourteenth.
"What happens next?" I asked.
"We submit the referral today," David said.
"Your cooperation and statement will be included.
The financial crimes unit will determine whether to open a formal investigation.
Given the documentation we have, I expect they will."
He closed his folder and stood.
"Mrs.
Carter.
I'm sorry this happened to you.
In my experience, the people in your position are almost never the ones who saw it coming."
He left.
Patricia waited until the door closed.
"Vanessa," she said.
"What's her legal exposure here?"
"She received the funds," I said.
"She knew where they came from."
"Did she know you hadn't authorized the transfers?"
I thought about Vanessa at the dinner table.
Her hand still resting near her plate after she'd sl@pped me.
*You serve the family before you feed yourself.* Two years of watching me fund a life while her brother quietly routed forty-eight thousand dollars of my money to her account.
"She knew," I said.
Patricia nodded slowly.
"Then she is not a bystander."
My phone buzzed on the table.
Nathan again.
I picked it up and read the message.
*"Emily, I know about the investigator.
I need you to understand that whatever he's told you is incomplete.
Call me before you do anything you can't undo.
Please."*
I turned the phone toward Patricia.
She read it.
Her expression didn't change.
"Forward that to me," she said.
"And don't respond."
I forwarded it.
Put the phone in my bag.
"He said *incomplete*," I said.
"Not *wrong*.
Not *false*."
"I noticed that," Patricia said.
"That means there's more."
May you like
She looked at me steadily.
"There usually is."
