Chapter 3 - The Ghost in the Machine
Two hours later,
Elias called me back.
His voice was no longer casual,
it was sharp,
and professional.
“Kelsey,
we have a problem,”
he began.
“Ryan Vance doesn't exist before 2008.”
My heart skipped a beat,
as I gripped the phone.
“What do you mean he doesn't exist?”
“The Social Security number he uses belongs to a child who died in 1984.
His education records are forged,
and his ‘consulting firm’ is a front for a logistics company in the Cayman Islands.”
I leaned back in my chair,
the walls of the room feeling like they were closing in.
I had been married to a ghost for fifteen years.
We had shared a bed,
shared meals,
and shared dreams,
all with a man who had stolen a dead child's identity.
“There’s more,”
Elias continued.
“In the last six months,
over four million dollars has moved through that logistics account.
The money originates from a defense contractor,
the same one currently under investigation for the disappearance of military hardware.”
The room spun.
As a Lieutenant Colonel,
I had access to sensitive data regarding logistics and supply chains.
Ryan hadn't married me for love.
He had married me for my clearance.
He was using my position,
my name,
and my reputation,
to bypass security protocols and move illicit goods.
My mother must have seen something,
perhaps a document he left behind,
or a phone call she overheard while she was visiting.
She wasn't "crazy,"
she was a witness.
The baseball bat was an attempt to silence her,
and to discredit her before she could tell me the truth.
I went back to the flash drive,
trying to think like my mother.
She loved puzzles,
she loved the Dewey Decimal System,
and she loved the coordinates of her favorite hiking trails.
I entered the coordinates of our family’s old cabin in the woods.
The drive clicked,
and a folder appeared on the screen.
It was titled: "The Inheritance."
Inside were hundreds of photos of shipping manifests,
all signed with a forged version of my signature.
He had been framing me for years.
If this went public,
I wouldn't just lose my career,
I would go to federal prison for treason.
Ryan wasn't just a domestic abuser,
he was a saboteur.
I felt a cold rage settle over me,
a calm,
military precision that replaced the grief.
I didn't just want him in jail for hitting my mother.
I wanted him destroyed for what he had done to my country,
and to my life.
I heard a car pull into the driveway.
I looked out the window.
It was Ryan.
He had made bail.
He walked toward the front door,
carrying his suit jacket,
and wearing the same fake,
sorrowful expression he used at funerals.
He didn't know I was home.
He didn't know I knew who he really was.
I grabbed my service weapon from the safe,
May you like
checked the magazine,
and waited.
