"They forged a signature on a loan guarantee against a house that's solely in your name," Evelyn said, her old paralegal eyes gleaming. "Clara, that's not a nasty divorce. That's forgery, fraud, conspiracy, and identity theft. And you have it on tape. And you're the one person qualified to trace the $480,000 back through every account it touched."
"I traced worse for a living," I said. "For strangers. For money.
Watch what I can do for myself."
PART 3
I did not go to Paris. I let Eric think I did.
That was the key. Evelyn and I agreed: the most dangerous thing I could do was tip them off. As long as Eric believed I was in a boutique hotel by the Luxembourg Gardens, he'd keep moving forward with the plan — freezing accounts, executing the forged guarantee, filing the divorce — and every move he made was another documented crime.
So I "went to Paris." I had a friend post to my socials from a trip she was already taking. I let my phone ping from the right places. I let Eric believe his audit-brained wife was drinking wine on the Left Bank while he robbed her.
