Stephanie knew where to begin.
“Marcus's mother.”
I looked at her.
“What about her?”
“She owns a property near Lake Norman.”
“How do you know?”
“Eric did title work for one of Marcus's companies.”
“Would Rebecca go there?”
“Maybe.”
Martin shook his head.
“Marcus would check family property first.”
“Unless Marcus is helping her hide.”
“He isn't.”
“How do you know?”
“Because he asked Cal where she was.”
That stopped us.
“When?”
“Two weeks ago.”
“The same time as the legal demand?”
“Yes.”
“Why would Cal know?”
Martin looked uncomfortable.
“Because Rebecca contacted him.”
I closed my eyes.
Of course.
“Did Cal tell you?”
“No. I heard Marcus asking.”
“Where?”
“Here.”
“Marcus came into this house?”
Diane answered.
“Yes.”
“When?”
“The day before your bonus arrived.”
I stared at her.
“And nobody thought I should know?”
“He was here ten minutes.”
“What did he want?”
“Rebecca.”
I turned to Martin.
“What did Cal say?”
“That he hadn't heard from her.”
“Was that true?”
“I don't know.”
My phone buzzed.
Unknown number.
Stop asking them.
Then:
They don't know where she is.
I typed:
You do.
The response took almost a minute.
Yes.
Stephanie read over my shoulder.
“Ask who they are.”
Who are you?
No answer.
Instead an address appeared.
A motel outside Mooresville.
Room 214.
Then:
Do not bring Martin.
I showed him.
He gave a humorless laugh.
“That's comforting.”
“Do you recognize the motel?”
“No.”
“Rebecca?”
“No.”
Diane said, “Don't go.”
I looked at her.
“You've known about forged documents, secret debt, a hidden child, an affair, and a criminal financing arrangement. Your instincts about what I should know have lost their authority.”
She looked down.
Stephanie and I left alone.
This time I told Eric where we were going.
I also sent him the address and told him to call police if he didn't hear from us within forty-five minutes of our arrival.
The motel was the kind built beside highways for people who didn't intend to stay.
Two floors.
Exterior corridors.
Ice machine near the stairs.
Room 214 was upstairs.
No blue sedan.
No Cal.
I knocked.
Nothing.
Again.
Then a woman's voice.
“Who?”
“Josephine Kincaid.”
Silence.
Locks moved.
The door opened three inches.
A dark-haired woman looked at me.
She was perhaps thirty-six.
Tired eyes.
No makeup.
A faint scar beneath her chin.
“Show me your ID.”
I did.
She opened the door.
“You brought Stephanie.”
“You know me?” Stephanie asked.
“Cal showed me pictures.”
That sentence made both of us uncomfortable.
Rebecca closed the door.
The room contained one suitcase and a laptop.
Nothing else suggested permanence.
I looked at her.
“You were with my husband.”
She didn't deny it.
“Yes.”
“How long?”
“Eight months.”
“When?”
“Two years ago.”
“Did you know he was married?”
“Not initially.”
“When did you find out?”
“Three months in.”
“And you stayed.”
“For five more months.”
“Yes.”
I appreciated the absence of excuses.
“December fourteenth?”
“That was the end.”
“What happened?”
Rebecca sat on the edge of the bed.
“I found the insurance policy.”
My skin prickled.
“Mine?”
“Yes.”
“Why did Cal have it there?”
“He kept documents at the apartment.”
“What did you think it was?”
“At first, normal insurance.”
“Then?”
“I saw the application.”
“My signature?”
“Yes.”
“You knew it was forged?”
“I had seen your real signature.”
“How?”
“Northline documents.”
“Forged ones?”
“No. A tax form.”
That distinction mattered.
“What happened when you confronted him?”
“He said the policy was collateral protection.”
“Was it?”
“No.”
“How do you know?”
“I called the insurer.”
My pulse accelerated.
“What did they say?”
“That it was an individual policy. Not assigned to a lender.”
“So Cal lied.”
“Yes.”
“Why did he insure me?”
Rebecca looked at me for several seconds.
“I don't know.”
“Did he ever talk about me dying?”
“No.”
“Hurting me?”
“No.”
“Leaving me?”
“Yes.”
That hurt.
“What did he say?”
“That he couldn't leave until the debt was resolved.”
“Because of money?”
“And because Marcus knew about the fraud.”
I looked at her.
“Did Marcus know about us?”
“Eventually.”
“Did he threaten Cal?”
“Yes.”
“Because he was sleeping with you?”
“Partly.”
“What else?”
“Because Cal stole from him.”
Stephanie leaned forward.
“How much?”
Rebecca looked at her.
“About ninety thousand.”
I almost laughed from exhaustion.
Another number.
Another hidden amount.
“How?”
“Northline received funds intended for property acquisition. Cal redirected part of them.”
“To where?”
“Debt payments. Emma. Your household. The restaurant. Me.”
“You?”
“He gave me money.”
“Did you know it was stolen?”
“No.”
“When I learned, I gave Marcus what remained.”
“How much?”
“Eighteen thousand.”
“What happened to the rest?”
“I had spent some. Cal had paid rent.”
I looked around the motel room.
“Why are you hiding now?”
“Because two weeks ago I received a copy of an old Northline ledger.”
“From whom?”
“I don't know.”
“The anonymous number?”
“Probably.”
She opened the laptop.
“Whoever sent it wanted me to compare it to the records I kept.”
“What did you find?”
“Transactions missing from Northline's official books.”
“How much?”
“Hundreds of thousands.”
Stephanie whispered, “Marcus?”
Rebecca shook her head.
“Not all.”
She turned the laptop toward us.
Rows of transactions filled the screen.
Dates.
Entities.
Amounts.
Initials.
One column appeared repeatedly.
CK.
Cal.
Another:
MV.
Marcus.
Then:
DK.
Diane Kincaid.
My stomach tightened.
“Diane?”
“She processed payments.”
“Did she take money?”
“I don't know.”
Rebecca scrolled.
Then stopped at another set of initials.
JK.
My initials.
“No.”
“I know.”
“You know what?”
“These aren't you.”
“How?”
“The transactions happened while you were at work, traveling, or otherwise documented elsewhere. Whoever created the ledger used your identity as a category.”
“For what?”
“Money attributed to you.”
“What does that mean?”
Rebecca opened a second file.
“Loans in your name. Credit lines. Ownership interests. Insurance premiums. Business reimbursements.”
My life had been converted into accounting shorthand.
“Can this prove Cal forged things?”
“Some.”
“Can it prove Marcus was laundering money?”
“Possibly.”
“Why hasn't this gone to police?”
“Because the ledger also implicates people who may be innocent.”
“Like me.”
“Yes.”
“Then give them context.”
“I intend to.”
“When?”
“Tomorrow.”
“Why tomorrow?”
“I have a meeting.”
“With whom?”
“Federal investigators.”
The room went quiet.
Stephanie said, “Eric?”
“His attorney contacted them.”
That explained why Eric had been careful.
Why files were being protected.
Why someone might have broken into his office.
“What do they know?”
“Enough to want documents.”
“Do they know about Cal?”
“Yes.”
“Marcus?”
“Yes.”
“Me?”
Rebecca hesitated.
“Yes.”
My stomach tightened.
“As what?”
“A possible identity-theft victim.”
Relief came strangely.
Not because the situation was safe.
Because somewhere outside Cal's stories, someone had finally considered the possibility that I was not responsible for what bore my name.
“Why does Cal want to find you?”
Rebecca closed the laptop.
“Because I have the original ledger.”
“Where?”
“Not here.”
“Does Marcus want it?”
“Yes.”
“Who sent it to you?”
“I don't know.”
“Then who keeps texting me?”
“I assumed it was you.”
“No.”
Her expression changed.
“You've been receiving messages?”
I showed her.
She read several.
Then sat back.
“I know this phrasing.”
“What?”
“The way they write.”
“Who?”
She looked toward the window.
“I need to see another.”
I showed her the message about Laura.
Then the one about Martin.
Rebecca read them carefully.
“It's not Marcus.”
“Cal?”
“No.”
“Then who?”
She looked at Stephanie.
“Your brother.”
Stephanie recoiled.
“Eric?”
“I think so.”
“Why would Eric hide his identity?”
“Because he isn't only cooperating with investigators.”
“What does that mean?”
Rebecca looked at me.
“He's been building a case against Cal for months.”
“Why?”
“Because Eric believes Cal stole from him deliberately.”
Stephanie stood.
“My brother told me he didn't understand the financing.”
“He didn't initially.”
“But now?”
“Now he knows enough.”
“Why manipulate Josie?”
Rebecca shook her head.
“I don't think he's manipulating her.”
“He spoofed my phone.”
“Maybe.”
“He directed us to evidence.”
“Yes.”
“That is manipulation.”
Rebecca conceded the point.
My phone buzzed.
Unknown number.
Rebecca looked at it.
The message read:
Leave the motel now.
Then:
Cal found Rebecca.
We all looked toward the window.
A truck had entered the parking lot.
Cal's truck.
Rebecca stood.
“Back stairs.”
I didn't move.
“No.”
Stephanie grabbed my arm.
“Josie.”
“I've spent days chasing him.”
The truck stopped.
Cal got out.
He looked up.
Directly at Room 214.
Rebecca whispered, “He isn't here for you.”
“How do you know?”
“Because I have the one thing he needs before tomorrow.”
“What?”
She reached beneath the mattress.
Pulled out a small flash drive.
“The unedited Northline ledger.”
Footsteps sounded on the metal stairs outside.
Cal was coming up.
Click here to continue reading: PART 12: Cal Cornered Us at the Motel, but the Ledger Revealed Someone Else Had Been Profiting From Every Lie He Told
The Christmas Dinner Where My Husband Spent My Bonus Before I Had Even Decided What I Wanted
Part 11 of 31
