Chapter 3 - THE FIRST LIE CRACKS
Derek recovered quickly.
People like him usually did.
Shock appeared for one second.
Then charm returned.
“Attorney?”
He laughed.
“Chloe, come on.”
“You're being ridiculous.”
I almost admired the performance.
Almost.
“You locked me in a bedroom.”
“To give you time to calm down.”
“You threw a filthy towel in my face.”
“You were disrespecting my mother.”
“Your mother poured grease on my shoes.”
“It was an accident.”
“Was locking the door an accident too?”
His jaw tightened.
Behind him, more relatives began appearing on the porch.
Brenda came first.
She still held a champagne glass.
Of course she did.
“What is going on?”
she demanded.
Derek turned toward her.
“She's threatening lawyers.”
Brenda laughed.
Actually laughed.
“Over a little family disagreement?”
I watched her face carefully.
“Not exactly.”
Her smile faded.
I continued.
“I'm talking to an attorney about documents filed with Brighton Commercial Bank this morning.”
The champagne glass stopped halfway to her mouth.
That was the moment I knew.
She knew exactly what I was talking about.
Derek looked at her.
Then back at me.
“What documents?”
Brenda recovered.
“I have no idea what she's talking about.”
I smiled.
“Neither did I.”
“Until about ten minutes ago.”
Raymond crossed his arms.
“What did you file, Brenda?”
“Stay out of this.”
“What did you file?”
“Nothing.”
I looked at Derek.
“Your company filed paperwork claiming I agreed to contribute my forty-five-thousand-dollar cashier's check as business capital.”
His eyes moved involuntarily toward my backpack.
Another answer.
I had been hoping he would look confused.
He looked terrified.
I continued.
“They also filed a document claiming I authorized my trust assets as collateral.”
Derek took one step closer.
“Let me explain.”
Brenda snapped.
“Don't explain anything in the driveway.”
Interesting.
Not “That's impossible.”
Not “She's lying.”
Not “We didn't do that.”
Only don't explain it here.
I opened the window another inch.
“No.”
I said.
“Explain it right here.”
Several relatives shifted uncomfortably.
Derek glanced at them.
“Chloe, this is private.”
“So was locking me in a bedroom.”
His nostrils flared.
“You are making a scene.”
“I haven't even started.”
That sentence silenced everyone.
Then Brenda approached my window.
Her expression had changed.
The smug mother-in-law disappeared.
A negotiator took her place.
“Chloe.”
“Whatever paperwork was submitted can be corrected.”
“It was probably prepared in advance.”
“These things happen in family businesses.”
“A forged signature doesn't happen accidentally.”
Her eyes sharpened.
“Be careful using words like forged.”
“My attorney used it first.”
That landed harder.
Howard Whitmore finally appeared behind the others.
Derek's father was a broad man in his early sixties who had spent the entire wedding introducing himself to guests by mentioning the company's annual revenue.
Now he looked pale.
“What attorney?”
he asked.
“Rachel Donovan.”
Howard's reaction was immediate.
His fingers tightened around the doorframe.
Raymond noticed it too.
“You know her?”
Howard said nothing.
I did.
Rachel had once represented the state during a major commercial fraud investigation.
If Howard recognized her name, that meant he understood the danger.
Derek leaned closer to the window.
“Give me the backpack.”
“No.”
“Chloe.”
“No.”
“That money is supposed to help us start our life.”
“My parents gave it to me.”
“We're married.”
“For fourteen hours.”
“And apparently that was long enough for you to try stealing it.”
His hand struck the roof of my car.
Several relatives jumped.
I did not.
Instead, I shifted into reverse.
Derek grabbed the door handle.
Locked.
I looked at him.
“Move.”
“You are not leaving.”
Raymond stepped forward.
“She is.”
Derek stared at his uncle.
“You're choosing her over your own family?”
“No.”
Raymond said.
“I'm choosing the person who hasn't committed a felony this morning.”
Brenda's glass slipped slightly in her hand.
I reversed out of the driveway.
As the Whitmore estate disappeared in my mirror, my phone began ringing.
Derek.
I rejected it.
He called again.
Rejected.
Then Brenda.
Rejected.
Then Howard.
Rejected.
Then an unknown number.
I answered.
“Chloe Mercer?”
“Yes.”
“This is Nathan Ellis with Brighton Commercial Bank's fraud department.”
My hands tightened around the steering wheel.
“We need to speak with you regarding a loan application submitted using your identity.”
May you like
The first lie had cracked.
And the entire Whitmore family was standing beneath it.
