Chương 6
“Mine started with a guy who locked himself out wearing nothing but compression shorts.”
Mara snorted.
Dennis shrugged.
“Perspective.”
After he left, I sat on the edge of the sofa.
For the first time all morning, nothing demanded immediate action.
That was when the grief arrived.
Not dramatically.
No sobbing.
No collapse.
I looked at the indentation Chase had made in the cushion over two years of sitting in the same place, and my eyes filled.
He used to watch baseball there while pretending he understood the statistics better than I did.
He left socks under that end of the sofa.
He always stole the blanket and denied it.
The human brain is cruel about timing.
It offers tenderness when you need evidence.
Mara sat beside me.
“I’m going to say something you won’t like.”
“That has never stopped you.”
“He may have loved you.”
I turned toward her.
She kept looking straight ahead.
“People can love somebody and still use them.”
“I don’t know if that’s better or worse.”
“Neither do I.”
I wiped my face with the heel of my hand.
“I feel stupid.”
“Don’t.”
“I investigate financial deception.”
“And surgeons get sick.”
“That is not the same.”
“No, but it annoyed you, so I’m keeping it.”
I laughed despite myself.
Then I cried for perhaps thirty seconds.
Mara handed me a napkin from the bakery bag.
It left a faint smear of butter on my cheek.
Neither of us noticed until later.
At twelve thirty, Rachel called back.
She had reviewed the police incident information I sent and wanted me to consider seeking an emergency protective order if Chase continued trying to enter or threaten me.
I resisted immediately.
“He hasn’t come back.”
“Yet.”
“I don’t want to make this bigger than it is.”
Rachel was quiet for a beat.
“That sentence concerns me.”
“I mean legally.”
“I know what you mean.”
“I’m not afraid of him.”
“You were afraid enough to call police.”
“I was being cautious.”
“Those are not mutually exclusive.”
I paced toward the windows.
Below me, a tour boat moved slowly along the river.
People stood on the upper deck under plastic ponchos, pointing at buildings as if nobody inside them had ruined an engagement before noon.
Rachel continued.
“You do not have to decide this minute.”
“Good.”
“But if he contacts you in a threatening way, comes back without permission, or sends anyone to pressure you, tell me.”
“And do not negotiate privately about money.”
“I wasn’t planning to.”
“I’m saying it because intelligent people become strangely optimistic when someone they love offers one plausible explanation.”
That irritated me because it was exactly what I had been hoping for at midnight.
I thanked her and ended the call.
At one fourteen, Chase provided the explanation.
He emailed instead of texting.
The subject line read LET’S FIX THIS.
The message was three paragraphs long.
He said DMC Lifestyle Services had been created by Diane to consolidate wedding expenses and negotiate vendor discounts.
He claimed the transfers from our joint account had been temporary advances to hold vendors and would be fully reconciled.
He accused me of misunderstanding basic wedding logistics because I had been too busy with work to participate.
Then he apologized for raising his hand.
Not for threatening me.
Not for blocking the door.
For raising his hand.
He wrote that he had been frustrated and would never have actually struck me.
The final paragraph was the most interesting.
He asked me not to contact vendors or banks until we could meet because “premature accusations could create serious reputational harm for everyone involved.”
Mara read the email over my shoulder.
“Convenient.”
“Very.”
“Can Diane produce vendor contracts?”
“She produced paperwork.”
“That is not what I asked.”
I looked at the ivory folder.
“No.”
Mara picked up her coffee, found it cold, and drank it anyway.
“What would you do if this were a client?”
That question hurt.
I answered automatically.
“Verify counterparties independently.”
“Then do that.”
We started with the supposed caterer.
The invoice in Diane’s folder used the name Lakeshore Culinary Collective.
There was a real catering company with a similar name in Evanston.
I called the public number listed on its website rather than anything on the invoice.
A receptionist transferred me to the owner.
I explained only that I was verifying an invoice for an upcoming wedding.
She asked for the invoice number.
I gave it.
She checked.
“We don’t have that number.”
“What about the event date?”
She searched again.
“No Hayes or Mercer booking.”
I looked at Mara.
“Does your company use DMC Lifestyle Services as a payment processor or event consultant?”
“No.”
“Have you ever heard of them?”
Another pause.
“No.”
I thanked her and ended the call.
The floral invoice led to a real florist in Oak Park.
Same result.
No contract.
No booking.
No relationship with DMC.
The paperwork looked convincing because it borrowed real company names, real addresses, and real service descriptions.
But the email domains were altered by one character.
The phone numbers routed elsewhere.
The payment instructions all led back to DMC.
Mara leaned both hands on the island.
“This is fraud.”
“Likely.”
“Whitney.”
“I need more.”
“You have fake invoices.”
“I have suspicious invoices.”
“You are exhausting.”
“That’s why you hired me.”
“You hired me.”
“Then quitting remains an option.”
“Not before maternity leave ends.”
That almost made me smile.
Then my phone rang.
Celeste.
I answered.
Her voice was strained.
“Whitney, I found something.”
“What?”
“I went back through my emails.”
I opened my laptop.
“Go ahead.”
“Three months ago, Diane sent me updated vendor contacts from Chase’s email address.”
Mara moved closer.
“Chase’s personal email?”
“Yes.”
“Forward it to me.”
“I already did.”
The message arrived while we were still speaking.
The sender was Chase’s normal address.
The email contained a spreadsheet listing revised vendor contacts.
Every fake invoice we had identified appeared on it.
May you like
Near the bottom was another vendor I did not recognize.
Mercer Event Transportation.
