For illustration purposes only
Then Dalton said, “Don’t touch anything.”
“There’s also a retail barcode on it from Hardy’s Hardware.”
Another pause.
“I’ll send someone.”
“Check traffic and store cameras between eight and nine last night.”
“You think your husband bought it?”
“I think you’re going to see his SUV.”
I ended the call.
Seconds later, my phone pinged.
A banking alert.
A large withdrawal had been flagged as suspicious.
I opened our joint account.
What I found made Nolan’s visit to Mom suddenly make horrifying sense.
Hundreds of thousands of dollars had been moved over the previous six months.
Offshore holding companies.
Transfers connected to high-stakes betting.
Cash movements I had never authorized.
Then I found something worse.
A second mortgage on our townhouse.
My signature appeared on the documents.
I had never signed them.
Nolan had forged my name.
And my mother was a retired forensic accountant.
The week before, she had asked for copies of our financial records because she was helping organize our taxes.
She had found him.
She must have confronted him.
The realization made me physically sick.
