Chapter 3 - MY HUSBAND’S SECOND FIANCÉEThere are moments when betrayal is so enormous that your mind refuses to accept it all at once.
Mine broke it into pieces.
Kyle had stolen my father’s money.
Kyle had bought a mansion.
Kyle had another woman.
Kyle was apparently planning a wedding.
Each fact landed separately.
Rebecca told me not to touch anything in Kyle’s office until we had documented the house properly.
So I photographed everything.
His desk.
His locked filing cabinet.
The safe behind a painting.
The drawer containing a second phone charger.
Then Dad remembered something.
“Kyle gave me an envelope.”
“What envelope?”
“He told me to destroy it.”
“Did you?”
Dad looked almost offended.
“I raised you better than that.”
For the first time all day, I smiled.
He had hidden the envelope under the mattress of the folding cot downstairs.
Inside were copies of the documents he had signed.
Rebecca came over personally.
By midnight, our dining room looked like a temporary war room.
Bank statements.
Company registrations.
Real estate records.
Transfer forms.
One authorization bore my name.
At least, it looked like my name.
Rebecca held it beneath the lamp.
“Is this your signature?”
“No.”
Dad whispered, “He showed me that.”
I looked at him.
“Kyle?”
“He said you’d signed first.”
The forged signature authorized Kyle Mercer to act as my financial representative.
There was only one problem.
Kyle had spelled my middle name wrong.
Claire Annette Parker Mercer.
The document said Claire Anne Mercer.
My mother had named me after her sister.
Nobody close to me got it wrong.
Nobody except Kyle, apparently.
Rebecca photographed the page.
“That mistake may help us.”
I barely heard her.
My phone vibrated.
Kyle.
I answered.
“Hey, babe.”
His voice was warm.
Normal.
I almost admired the performance.
“Where are you?”
“Office.”
I looked at Rebecca.
She silently shook her head.
“Busy?”
“Crazy day.”
“How’s Denver?”
“Cold.”
I had landed in eighty-eight-degree Arizona heat four hours earlier.
“Miss me?”
“Always.”
He chuckled.
“I wish you were home.”
I stared at our wedding photograph on the bookshelf.
“So do I.”
For five minutes, I let him lie.
Then he said something that made my skin crawl.
“Your dad called me earlier.”
Interesting.
Dad’s phone was on the table.
He hadn’t called anyone.
“What did he want?”
“Same stuff. Money worries. I think he’s getting confused lately.”
Dad closed his eyes.
Kyle continued.
“When you get back, maybe we should talk about assisted living.”
My fingernails dug into my palm.
“You think Dad needs assisted living?”
“I’m worried about him.”
“Because he asks questions about his money?”
Silence.
Just half a second.
Then Kyle laughed.
“What money?”
There it was.
I could have confronted him.
Instead I said, “Nothing. He mentioned something before I left.”
“Claire.”
His voice changed.
Subtly.
“Has your father contacted you?”
“No.”
Rebecca nodded approval.
Kyle relaxed.
“Probably for the best. He’s stressed.”
“When are you coming home?”
“Late.”
“How late?”
“Don’t wait up.”
I smiled.
“I won’t.”
When I ended the call, Dad stared at me.
“How did you do that?”
“Do what?”
“Talk to him normally.”
I looked at the forged document.
“Because Kyle thinks he’s smarter than me.”
Rebecca gathered the papers.
“Let him keep thinking that.”
At 1:14 a.m., the security camera notified me that someone had entered the backyard.
Kyle.
He didn’t come through the front door.
He went directly to the detached garage.
I watched from the upstairs window.
Five minutes later, he came out carrying two boxes.
Evidence.
“Rebecca.”
“I see him.”
We called the police.
Not to arrest him.
Not yet.
To create a record.
Kyle was halfway through loading boxes into his SUV when I switched on the driveway lights.
He froze.
I stepped outside.
“Welcome home.”
The expression on his face was worth every miserable hour of that day.
“Claire?”
I leaned against the doorway.
“You look surprised.”
“What are you doing here?”
“I live here.”
“You’re supposed to be in Denver.”
“Plans changed.”
His eyes moved toward the house.
“Is your father here?”
“Why?”
“No reason.”
“What’s in the boxes?”
“Work files.”
“At one in the morning?”
He stepped toward me.
“Claire, can we talk inside?”
“Sure.”
I didn’t move.
His gaze narrowed.
“You’re acting strange.”
“Am I?”
Then Rebecca walked out behind me.
Kyle stopped.
“What is she doing here?”
“Visiting.”
“At one in the morning?”
I smiled.
“Apparently we’re all night owls.”
His face hardened.
Then he saw the police cruiser turning onto our street.
“What did you do?”
“Nothing.”
The cruiser stopped at the curb.
“I simply reported suspicious activity around my garage.”
“This is my house.”
“No.”
I watched his eyes change.
“This is our house.”
“No, Kyle.”
I had purchased the property three years before we married.
The deed had never changed.
“This is my house.”
For once, he had no answer.
The officers documented the boxes.
Kyle insisted they contained business property.
He was allowed to leave with nothing except his wallet, phone, and clothes.
Before he walked away, he leaned toward me.
“You have no idea what you’re doing.”
I looked directly into his eyes.
“No, Kyle.”
“I finally do.”
The next morning Rebecca obtained emergency legal relief preventing movement of several identified assets.
But Kyle had anticipated something.
Most of Dad’s money was already gone.
Not spent.
Moved.
Layered through companies.
One transfer led to Nevada.
Another to Delaware.
A third to an offshore account.
And the mansion?
It wasn’t Kyle’s final destination.
It was collateral.
For a loan.
A very large loan.
Rebecca stared at the numbers.
“Claire, this is bigger than your father’s three million.”
“How much bigger?”
She rotated her laptop toward me.
“At least eleven million dollars.”
I thought of Kyle’s consulting business.
He didn’t earn anything close to that.
“Where did he get eleven million?”
Rebecca looked grim.
“That’s what we need to find out.”
Then my phone rang.
Unknown number.
I answered.
A woman’s voice spoke.
“Is this Claire Mercer?”
“Yes.”
“My name is Vanessa Cole.”
May you like
My husband’s other fiancée.
“I think you and I need to meet.”
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