Chapter 3 - TWO WIVES, ONE LIEDetective Bell separated Rebecca and me for questioning.
Not because he considered either of us suspects, he explained, but because he wanted independent accounts.
Rebecca went first.
I sat alone in a family consultation room staring at an artificial plant while my entire marriage rearranged itself in my memory.
Every strange absence.
Every canceled dinner.
Every time Nathan claimed his phone was dying.
Every business conference that had somehow lasted through Sunday morning.
There had been signs.
That was the cruelest part.
Not that I had ignored obvious evidence.
But that Nathan had designed explanations so ordinary that suspicion would have seemed unreasonable.
Once, three Christmases earlier, he had disappeared for twelve hours because a water pipe allegedly burst at one of his commercial properties.
I remembered feeling guilty for being irritated.
Rebecca later told Detective Bell that Nathan had spent those same twelve hours celebrating Christmas with Caleb.
That year my husband had given me diamond earrings.
He had given Rebecca a bracelet.
Apparently deceit came with excellent time management.
When Bell finally questioned me, I told him everything.
The forged-looking withdrawals.
The forensic audit.
The life-insurance policy.
The recording.
The cabin.
The Mercedes.
When I finished, he folded his hands.
“How much are you worth, Mrs. Pierce?”
“I don’t know exactly.”
“Estimate.”
“Personally? Maybe eleven or twelve million.”
He didn’t react.
“And your family company?”
“Assets under management are much higher, but most aren’t mine personally.”
“How much would your husband receive if you died?”
“I thought $750,000.”
“Thought?”
“Nathan handles our insurance.”
Bell stared at me for a moment.
“Have your accountant verify it.”
I did.
The answer arrived twenty minutes later.
Melissa called me back sounding sick.
“Caroline, I found four policies.”
I closed my eyes.
“How much?”
“The one you know about is $750,000.”
“And the others?”
“Three million. Five million. And twelve million.”
My hand tightened around the phone.
“Twenty million?”
“Twenty million seven hundred fifty thousand total.”
“Who authorized those?”
“Your electronic signature appears on all of them.”
“I didn’t sign them.”
Melissa was quiet.
“There’s more.”
Of course there was.
“There is always more,” I whispered.
“The twelve-million-dollar policy was issued fourteen months ago. Nathan is beneficiary through a trust.”
“What trust?”
“The Pierce Family Continuity Trust.”
“I’ve never heard of it.”
“He’s trustee.”
Bell had moved closer.
I put the phone on speaker.
Melissa continued.
“If you die, Nathan receives control of your voting interests in several entities until the estate settles.”
“How long would that take?”
“Potentially years.”
“And during those years?”
“He could authorize sales, refinance properties, move assets.”
Bell said, “Could he steal money?”
Melissa hesitated.
“With enough forged documentation? Yes.”
The detective wrote something down.
“Send the policies to my secure email.”
After the call, Bell said, “I’m having officers secure your vehicle.”
“Thank you.”
“But you should not return home tonight.”
“Why?”
“Because someone besides your husband may be involved.”
Eric.
Lewis.
The mystery passenger.
Bell continued.
“If the recording is genuine—and we’ll verify it—your husband discussed tampering with your brakes. He referenced a person named Lewis. Do you know anyone by that name?”
I thought.
Then remembered.
“Lewis Calder.”
“Who is he?”
“He owns the auto shop Nathan uses.”
Bell nodded.
That evening, officers found the Mercedes in our garage.
The brake line had been partially cut.
Not fully severed.
A slow leak.
Designed so the brakes would function normally when I left the house but gradually lose pressure.
By the time I reached Route 23, where steep hills and sharp curves began outside the city, I might not have realized there was a problem until I needed to stop.
Bell called me at 8:12 p.m.
“Your instinct was right.”
I stood in the hospital stairwell because I didn’t want Rebecca to hear.
“The brakes?”
“Yes.”
I pressed my forehead against the cold concrete wall.
Nathan had kissed me the previous night.
He had poured me wine.
He had asked what time I planned to leave.
Then he had gone to bed beside me.
A man can sleep surprisingly peacefully beside the woman he intends to kill.
“Was it Lewis?”
“We’re looking for him.”
“Looking?”
“His shop is closed. Residence is empty.”
My stomach tightened.
“Gone?”
“Maybe.”
“What about Eric?”
“We’re speaking to him.”
Meaning they had not arrested him.
Not yet.
I returned to the ICU waiting area.
Rebecca sat near the window.
Her parents had taken Caleb home, but she refused to leave.
For several minutes neither of us spoke.
Then she said, “Did he try to hurt you?”
I looked at her.
“How do you know?”
“I saw your face after the detective called.”
I sat across from her.
“Yes.”
Rebecca covered her mouth.
“God.”
“There’s something I need to ask you.”
“Anything.”
“Has Nathan ever talked about my driving?”
She frowned.
“He said you died in a car accident.”
The hairs on my arms rose.
“What kind?”
“Brake failure.”
Neither of us spoke.
Then Rebecca began shaking.
“Caroline…”
“What?”
“He told Caleb that story.”
“What story?”
“About you.”
My throat tightened.
“He made my death part of his life with you.”
Rebecca’s eyes filled.
“Yes.”
I stood and walked to the vending machines because suddenly sitting still was impossible.
Nathan hadn’t invented a random death for his fictional first wife.
He had rehearsed mine.
He had been telling Rebecca for years that Caroline had died when her brakes failed.
Maybe it had started as a convenient lie.
Or maybe the idea had been there far longer than I wanted to consider.
Rebecca came toward me.
“There’s something else.”
I turned.
She looked ashamed.
“He keeps documents at our house.”
“What kind?”
“I don’t know. There’s a locked office downstairs.”
“Have you ever been inside?”
“No.”
“Do you know the code?”
“No.”
“Address?”
She gave it to me.
Bell was less than thrilled when we told him.
“You are not going there,” he said.
“I wasn’t planning to.”
That was mostly true.
He obtained consent from Rebecca to search the house.
Three hours later, he called us into a private room.
He placed several photographs on the table.
Nathan’s office.
A locked filing cabinet.
Stacks of documents.
Then one picture that made my stomach turn.
A photograph of me.
Taken from across the street outside my office.
Another.
Me entering a grocery store.
Another.
Me jogging near our house.
Another.
Me getting into the Mercedes.
Some photographs were dated months earlier.
Someone had been watching me.
Bell slid forward another image.
It showed a handwritten schedule.
My schedule.
Gym.
Office.
Hair appointments.
Board meetings.
Routes I drove.
Beside Friday morning was written:
C — 7:30 / Rt. 23 / alone.
Rebecca made a choking sound.
Bell continued.
“We also found copies of your signature, banking information, insurance documents and blank corporate resolutions.”
I stared at the photographs.
Then I saw a name typed across one document.
MASON VAUGHN.
“Who’s Mason?”
Bell leaned back.
“Eric Vaughn’s younger brother.”
“What does he have to do with this?”
“That’s what we’re trying to determine.”
My phone vibrated.
Unknown number.
I almost ignored it.
Then a text appeared.
YOU SHOULD HAVE DIED TOMORROW.
My blood turned cold.
Another message arrived.
NOW EVERYONE HAS A PROBLEM.
I handed the phone to Bell.
He immediately called another officer.
Rebecca whispered, “They know.”
“Yes.”
“They know you found out.”
Bell looked at both of us.
“From this point forward, neither of you goes anywhere alone.”
Then my phone vibrated again.
This time it wasn’t a threat.
It was a photograph.
Nathan’s wrecked Audi.
Taken before police arrived.
In the image, a man was climbing from the passenger side.
His face was partially visible.
Rebecca stared.
Then she whispered a name.
“Mason.”
Bell looked sharply at her.
“You know him?”
Her face had become ghost-white.
“Yes.”
“How?”
Rebecca looked at me.
“He’s Nathan’s cousin.”
I shook my head.
“No, he isn’t.”
She swallowed.
May you like
“That’s what Nathan told me.”
And once again, we discovered that in Nathan Pierce’s life, even the people around him had been given different identities.
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