Chapter 3 - THE ACCOUNT WITH MY NAME ON IT
By morning, Detective Harris had obtained a temporary freeze on the transfer.
Then he gave me another piece of information.
"Marshall Holdings isn't technically your husband's company."
"Then whose is it?"
"Yours."
I stared at him.
"What?"
He placed a folder on my bed.
Inside was a corporate registration.
My name appeared under ownership.
Elena Marshall — 51%.
I had never created that company.
"I don't understand."
"Neither do I."
He flipped another page.
Victor's name appeared.
"He's listed as managing director."
My stomach dropped.
"When was this registered?"
"Eight months ago."
Eight months.
I tried to remember.
Eight months ago, Victor had insisted I sign several documents because he said we were refinancing our house.
I had been exhausted.
I'd trusted him.
"Could he have forged my signature?"
"That's what we're investigating."
He handed me another page.
"There's more."
The company had received several transfers.
Large ones.
$42,000.
$75,000.
$110,000.
My hands shook.
"Where did this money come from?"
"Your personal investment account."
I stared at him.
"How much?"
"Almost $400,000."
My throat tightened.
"That's my retirement savings."
"I know."
I couldn't breathe.
Victor hadn't simply tried to stop my career.
He had been draining the future I'd built before him.
And suddenly his words made sense.
Your future is with me.
He hadn't meant love.
He meant money.
Control.
Dependence.
If I received my commission, I'd have an independent salary.
Independent housing.
Independent benefits.
A separate future.
And perhaps most importantly, I would start asking questions.
"What happens now?"
Harris closed the folder.
"We investigate."
"Can I get my money back?"
"Possibly."
"How?"
"First we prove what happened."
I nodded.
Then I remembered something.
"Detective?"
"Yes?"
"Victor knew exactly where my financial documents were."
Harris looked up.
"Why?"
"Because after we married, he convinced me to store everything in one cabinet."
"Did he have the key?"
"Yes."
Harris wrote it down.
Then he asked:
"Where is the cabinet now?"
"At home."
"Do you want to go back?"
I looked at him.
"No."
"Good."
He stood.
"We'll secure the residence."
That afternoon, Captain Reynolds called.
"Elena."
"Yes?"
"Your commission ceremony is being rescheduled."
I closed my eyes.
"When?"
"After your medical evaluation."
"How long?"
"I don't know."
For the first time, hope entered the room.
Small.
Fragile.
But real.
Then she said:
"There's something else."
"What?"
"Someone contacted the command office anonymously."
"Who?"
"We don't know."
"What did they say?"
"They said your husband wasn't trying to stop you from serving."
I waited.
"He was trying to stop you from discovering something."
My heart pounded.
"What?"
"The caller didn't say."
"Did you record it?"
"Yes."
She sent me the audio.
I pressed play.
A distorted voice spoke.
"Look into the property transfers."
Then silence.
The message ended.
I played it again.
Something about the voice felt familiar.
Not because I recognized the speaker.
Because I recognized the fear behind it.
Someone close to Victor knew what he'd done.
May you like
And they were scared enough to hide their identity.
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