Chapter 3 - THE DAUGHTER NOBODY SUSPECTED
Victor stared at the signature as though it had been written by a stranger.
For a moment, I almost felt sorry for him.
Then I remembered that the document in his hands had helped someone steal $187,000 in my name.
“Where is Elena?” I asked.
Daniel closed the binder.
“That's one of the problems.”
Elena Alvarez had worked at Casa Encino for thirteen years.
At forty-one, she supervised human resources and corporate compliance.
She was also Victor's only child.
I'd never been especially close to her, but we'd always been cordial.
She sent birthday cards to longtime employees.
She remembered whose children were graduating.
And when my mother died, Elena brought food to our house.
I couldn't imagine her participating in something like this.
But three days earlier, I couldn't imagine Andrew kissing Monica either.
Victor rubbed his forehead.
“Elena's attending a vendor conference in Dallas.”
“Then call her.”
“I already did,” Daniel said. “She claims she never approved the account.”
I pointed at the signature.
“That's her handwriting.”
“Perhaps,” Daniel replied. “But a signature isn't proof of when or why she signed.”
He slid another document across the desk.
The bank account had been opened using a corporate identity-verification package submitted through Casa Encino's administrative office.
Someone had included my personnel records, an authorization form, and a letter confirming my employment.
The letter was printed on company stationery.
It carried Elena's electronic approval.
My stomach turned.
“How much information can Andrew get from those files?”
Daniel hesitated.
“Quite a lot, considering his position.”
Victor stood.
“I'm suspending his access Monday morning.”
“No,” I said.
Both men looked at me.
I surprised myself with how firmly the word came out.
“If you suspend him without securing everything first, he'll know we're investigating. He'll destroy whatever he can.”
Daniel nodded.
“She's right.”
Victor walked to the window.
For several seconds, nobody spoke.
Then he said, “I'll bring in outside counsel and a forensic accountant. Daniel will preserve the records. Andrew doesn't need to know until that's done.”
I looked at the documents again.
Something bothered me.
The account had been opened in my name.
Yet Andrew had never asked for my driver's license.
Then I remembered.
Two months earlier, Monica had offered to help me renew my professional certification.
She'd asked for a copy of my identification.
I'd emailed it to her without a second thought.
I felt sick.
“I gave Monica my license.”
Daniel made a note.
“Do you still have the email?”
“Yes.”
“Preserve it.”
Victor came back to the desk.
“Laura, I owe you an apology.”
I shook my head.
“Not yet. First I need to know why the bank believed I authorized any of this.”
Daniel removed another page.
“The paperwork includes a sworn identity-verification statement. According to the bank's records, you appeared at a branch on August fourteenth.”
I almost laughed.
“August fourteenth? I was at work.”
“Can you prove it?”
I thought for a moment.
Then I remembered the day.
Mrs. Whitaker's replacement dresser had finally arrived.
I'd personally supervised the delivery.
And I'd signed the warehouse receiving log.
“Yes,” I said. “I can.”
Daniel's expression brightened slightly.
“That's useful.”
But he wasn't finished.
“There's a complication. The bank's video retention window has expired. We may need archived appointment records and employee identification logs.”
“So someone impersonated me?”
“Possibly. Or the verification documents were processed improperly. We shouldn't assume yet.”
I looked down at the signature again.
Elena's signature.
My personnel records.
Monica's access to my license.
Andrew's influence over corporate operations.
It was becoming difficult to believe only two people were involved.
Before I left, Victor asked me to sit.
“Laura, there's something else you deserve to know.”
I was already exhausted.
“Please tell me it's something good.”
He gave a sad smile.
“It might be.”
He opened a drawer and removed a small velvet box.
Inside was a silver lapel pin shaped like an oak leaf.
I recognized it.
Twenty years earlier, Victor's late wife, Teresa, had designed the symbol for Casa Encino's employee recognition program.
I'd received one after my tenth anniversary.
Mine was still in my jewelry box.
“Teresa always said you were the heart of the company,” Victor said.
My eyes filled unexpectedly.
“She was kind to me.”
“She wasn't saying it to be kind. She watched how you treated people.”
He closed the box.
“I should've noticed what was happening sooner.”
For the first time since Saturday night, my anger shifted.
I wasn't merely fighting for a job.
I was fighting for seventeen years of work.
For customers who trusted me.
For employees I'd trained.
For the woman I'd been before Andrew convinced me she wasn't good enough.
“I don't want pity, Victor.”
“You won't get it.”
“I want my name cleared.”
He nodded.
“Then that's what we'll work toward.”
I left through the side entrance just before noon.
My phone showed three missed calls from Andrew.
I returned one from the parking lot.
“Where are you?” he demanded.
“With a customer.”
“For two hours?”
“Mrs. Whitaker likes to talk.”
His silence lasted a beat too long.
Then he laughed.
“That's true.”
I drove home using the interstate.
At a red light, I glanced at my wedding ring.
I hadn't removed it yet.
Not because I still believed in our marriage.
Because I didn't want Andrew to know it was over.
When I got home, he was sitting at the dining table.
A stack of papers lay in front of him.
Monica sat beside him.
My heart stopped.
“What's going on?”
Andrew smiled.
“Surprise. Monica stopped by.”
My best friend looked exhausted.
Her eyes were red.
She wouldn't meet mine.
Andrew pushed a document across the table.
“I talked to human resources. We can arrange a voluntary leave of absence starting tomorrow.”
I looked at the paper.
It wasn't a resignation.
Not yet.
It was a medical leave request citing stress-related performance concerns.
If I signed it, I would be acknowledging that my judgment had been impaired.
“Why is Monica here?” I asked.
Andrew reached for my hand.
“She cares about you.”
I looked at my best friend.
“Do you?”
Her lips trembled.
“Laura, please.”
Andrew's smile disappeared.
“Let's not make this difficult.”
I picked up the document.
For one terrifying second, I saw how close I'd come to signing something like it a week earlier.
Then I placed it back on the table.
“I need time to read it.”
Andrew leaned back.
“Laura, don't start.”
“I'm not starting anything. I'm reading before I sign.”
Monica suddenly stood.
“She should have time.”
Andrew turned toward her.
“What?”
“She said she wants to read it.”
Something dangerous passed between them.
I saw it.
So did Monica.
Andrew slowly gathered the papers.
“Fine. We'll discuss it tomorrow.”
He left the room.
I expected Monica to follow.
Instead, she reached into her purse.
Her fingers shook as she placed something beside my coffee cup.
A small brass key attached to a faded red ribbon.
I recognized the ribbon immediately.
It had once belonged to my mother.
Monica had helped me pack her belongings after the funeral.
“Where did you get that?” I whispered.
Monica looked toward the hallway.
Then she said, “Andrew took it from your mother's sewing box three months ago.”
My hands went cold.
“Why?”
She swallowed.
“Because your mother left you something he doesn't want you to find.”
And before I could ask another question, Andrew returned to the doorway.
May you like
His eyes dropped to the brass key.
For the first time in twenty years, I saw my husband look genuinely terrified.
