Chapter 7 - THE SECOND WOMAN'S SECRET
Vanessa called me on a Tuesday morning.
Her voice was shaking.
“Savannah, I found something.”
I sat down.
“What?”
“Brent has been using my father's company.”
I frowned.
“Your father's company?”
She explained that her father, Richard Caldwell, owned a regional construction supply business.
Brent had convinced him to invest in Whitaker Development Partners.
He claimed the company had several profitable contracts.
But Vanessa had discovered the contracts were fabricated.
Her father had transferred nearly $400,000.
And Brent had been pressuring him for more.
I stared at the phone.
“He was stealing from your family too.”
Vanessa began crying.
“I think so.”
We met at Margaret's office.
Vanessa brought financial records.
Emails.
Copies of contracts.
And messages from Brent.
Rebecca, a forensic accountant retained by Margaret's firm, reviewed the documents.
She found several suspicious transfers.
Some money had been used to pay earlier investors.
Some had covered Brent's personal expenses.
Some had disappeared into accounts controlled by another company.
Vanessa looked at me.
“There's something else.”
I waited.
“Brent told me you were dead.”
“I know.”
“No.”
Her voice broke.
“He told me he was responsible.”
The room went silent.
Vanessa explained that Brent had described a terrible car accident years earlier.
He claimed his first wife had died after an argument.
He said he'd never forgiven himself.
Vanessa believed his grief explained why he sometimes disappeared emotionally.
Why he refused to discuss his past.
Why he kept photographs hidden.
I stared at her.
“He used my imaginary death to make you feel sorry for him.”
She nodded.
Then whispered:
“And I married him because I thought he was a good man who'd suffered.”
For a long time, neither of us spoke.
Then Vanessa reached across the table.
“I know we aren't friends.”
I looked at her.
She continued.
“But I want you to know I didn't steal your husband.”
I swallowed.
“I know.”
She began crying.
“And I'm sorry about your son.”
I shook my head.
“You didn't do this.”
For the first time, I understood that Brent hadn't simply betrayed two women.
He had built two separate realities and trapped us inside them.
That afternoon, Detective Morgan called.
“Savannah, we need you to come in.”
My stomach tightened.
“Why?”
“We've located records connected to the cabin reservation.”
I held my breath.
“And?”
She paused.
“Your husband didn't reserve the cabin for you.”
I frowned.
“Then who did?”
May you like
Detective Morgan answered:
“He reserved it under the name of a woman who died six years ago.”
