Chapter 2 - The Secret Accounts and the Company My Husband Was Trying to Steal
I drove home without turning on the radio.
For the first time in twenty-eight years, I didn't want music.
I needed silence.
My daughter's words kept echoing in my mind.
Dad has been preparing to transfer the company.
To Brenda.
When I pulled into the driveway, Mark was waiting on the porch.
His face was angry.
Not worried.
Not ashamed.
Angry.
“Where have you been?”
“Visiting Andrew.”
His expression changed.
“Why?”
“Because Brenda sent me there.”
A lie.
A necessary one.
He stared at me.
“You've been talking to her?”
“Isn't that what your secretary's husband should be worried about?”
Mark's jaw tightened.
“What are you implying?”
“Nothing.”
I walked inside.
Ofelia was sitting in my living room.
She had been living with us for almost a year.
She always complained about the same things.
My cooking.
My clothes.
My habit of staying late at the office.
My refusal to let her reorganize the house.
But that evening, she said nothing.
She was staring at the documents in my hand.
“You look upset,” she said.
“I am tired.”
“What happened?”
“Nothing.”
Mark followed me inside.
“Laura has been visiting people without telling me.”
Ofelia looked at him.
Then at me.
“Why?”
“I wanted to see a friend.”
“What friend?”
“Andrew.”
Her face went blank.
Only for a second.
But I saw it.
She knew.
I went upstairs.
Locked the bedroom door.
And opened the folder again.
Six years of transfers.
Millions.
Wexford Holdings.
Ofelia.
Mark.
Then one company appeared repeatedly.
Bellmont Capital.
I recognized the name immediately.
Three years earlier, Mark had insisted we hire Bellmont to manage a portion of our real-estate investment portfolio.
I had objected.
The fees seemed excessive.
He told me I didn't understand modern investing.
Perhaps he was right.
Perhaps I had understood him too well.
I called Emily.
“What did you find?”
She whispered.
“I made copies.”
“Where are you?”
“My apartment.”
“Are you safe?”
“Yes.”
“What did the books show?”
A pause.
“Dad created a second company.”
“Under what name?”
“Whitmore Land Partners.”
My stomach tightened.
“Where did the money come from?”
“Crestview.”
“How much?”
“Almost eleven million.”
I sat down.
Eleven million dollars.
Stolen from our company.
My company.
Emily continued.
“There are other names on the shareholder records.”
“Who?”
“Brenda.”
“Of course.”
“Mom, it gets worse.”
“What?”
“Someone named Thomas Bennett.”
I stared at the wall.
Bennett was my maiden name.
“Who is Thomas Bennett?”
“I don't know.”
I didn't either.
My father had been Manuel Bennett.
No Thomas.
Then Emily said,
“There's a note beside his name.”
“What note?”
“Trust No One.”
Before I could respond, someone knocked on my bedroom door.
Mark.
“Laura?”
I closed the folder.
“What?”
“We need to talk.”
“I’m tired.”
“About Brenda.”
I froze.
“Come downstairs.”
“I said I'm tired.”
His voice hardened.
“Please.”
I eventually came down.
Mark was standing beside the fireplace.
Ofelia sat in the chair.
The atmosphere felt like a trial.
“You sent that package to Andrew,” Mark said.
I shrugged.
“I wanted his wife returned.”
Brenda had apparently called him.
“Why did you do it?”
“Because I found it.”
“You're humiliating me.”
I almost laughed.
“Me?”
“Yes.”
“You're the victim?”
His expression shifted.
“Laura, this is more complicated than you understand.”
There it was.
The sentence he had used for years whenever I asked questions about the business.
“Then explain it.”
He sat down.
“Brenda and I made mistakes.”
“Mistakes don't end up in the back seat of a car.”
He looked away.
“How long?”
He didn't answer.
“How long, Mark?”
“Two years.”
I felt strangely numb.
Two years.
He had been sleeping with her for two years.
But something was wrong.
Brenda was not worth risking his marriage for.
Not unless she was part of something bigger.
“Why were you transferring money to Wexford?”
His face changed completely.
For the first time, I saw fear.
“I don't know what you're talking about.”
“Then why is your name on the account?”
He stood.
“Who showed you?”
“Your mistress's husband.”
He cursed under his breath.
Then he said something I hadn't expected.
“You need to stop.”
“Stop what?”
“Digging.”
I smiled.
“Why?”
“Because you don't know what you're uncovering.”
I stepped closer.
“I am uncovering my own life.”
He lowered his voice.
“Your father made an agreement before we married.”
My heart stopped.
“What agreement?”
“Ask him.”
“My father is dead.”
“Then let the dead keep their secrets.”
That sentence told me more than he realized.
I turned away.
“Get out.”
He stared at me.
“This is my house.”
“No.”
I looked directly at him.
“It was our house.”
Ofelia stood.
“Laura, don't act hysterical.”
“I am not hysterical.”
I looked at her.
“I'm awake.”
She went silent.
Mark walked away.
I waited until their bedroom doors closed.
Then I called Emily.
“We need to meet.”
Thirty minutes later, we sat in a restaurant far from town.
Emily put a USB drive on the table.
“I copied everything.”
“You shouldn't have.”
“I know.”
“Where did you get it?”
“Dad left his laptop unlocked.”
I inserted the drive into my laptop.
There were hundreds of files.
Financial records.
Property transfers.
Contracts.
Emails.
Then I saw one folder.
MANUEL BENNETT.
My father.
Inside was an old scan of a handwritten agreement.
The first paragraph was visible.
I, Manuel Bennett, acknowledge an outstanding financial obligation to Ofelia Whitmore in the amount of $175,000...
My hands began shaking.
The amount was identical to the money my father had invested into Mark's business.
I kept reading.
The debt was connected to something called the Bennett Settlement Trust.
I had never heard of it.
At the bottom, my father's signature appeared.
So did Ofelia's.
And another signature.
Mark's.
I stared.
Mark had known.
From before our wedding.
Maybe from before he proposed.
Then I saw a final clause.
If Manuel Bennett fails to satisfy the obligation, legal control over designated Bennett assets shall pass to Ofelia Whitmore.
My company.
My family property.
Everything.
I looked at Emily.
“What is this?”
She shook her head.
“I don't know.”
My phone buzzed.
A text from an unknown number.
You are asking the right questions.
But you are looking in the wrong family.
Attached was a photograph.
My father.
Ofelia.
And a third person.
A man I recognized immediately.
The former attorney who had handled my father's estate.
Richard Cole.
Under the photograph was another message.
Your father didn't owe Ofelia money.
Ofelia owed your father.
I stared at the screen.
Everything I thought I knew was beginning to reverse itself.
And then the unknown number sent one more message.
Meet me tomorrow.
Come alone.
May you like
The sender signed only one word.
Thomas.
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