Chapter 6 - THEY CAME FOR WYATT NEXT
Wyatt sat in the university administrator’s office looking more furious than afraid.
“This is fake.”
Dr. Ellen Pierce nodded.
“We have not concluded otherwise.”
“I’ve never been arrested.”
“We are verifying the documentation.”
“It literally has the wrong middle initial.”
I looked.
He was right.
Wyatt’s middle name was James.
The document said Joseph.
Rachel, who had joined us by video call, spoke calmly.
“Dr. Pierce, please preserve the original email metadata and all attachments.”
“Of course.”
The complaint had been sent from an anonymous account.
But Javier had made one mistake.
The supposed arrest report carried a case number.
The Wyoming county sheriff’s office confirmed within twenty minutes that the case belonged to an entirely different person.
Not Wyatt.
Not even the same age.
The document had been altered.
The university closed the disciplinary matter that afternoon.
Then their IT department traced the anonymous email to an IP address associated with a Phoenix coworking space.
Security footage showed Javier entering that building the evening before the complaint was sent.
Was that enough to prove he sent it?
Not by itself.
But it established another pattern.
Rachel added it to the growing file.
“You should be angry,” I told Wyatt.
“I am.”
“You seem calm.”
He shrugged.
“Dad always says people get stupid when they think you’re weak.”
Our father did say that.
I hadn’t thought about it in years.
“What else does Dad say?”
“That you married a jackass.”
I stared at him.
“Dad said that?”
“Not those exact words.”
“What exact words?”
“I value living.”
For the first time in weeks, I laughed until my stomach hurt.
Then I called my parents.
I had told them pieces.
Not everything.
That afternoon, I told them the truth.
The slap.
The transfer.
The affair.
The forged mortgage.
Lydia’s company.
The fake complaint against Wyatt.
My mother cried.
My father became quiet.
That was worse.
“Come home,” Mom said.
“I can’t abandon Solara.”
“I don’t mean forever.”
“I know.”
My father finally spoke.
“Naomi.”
“Yes?”
“You don’t need permission to come back to your family.”
That sentence opened something in me.
For four years, I had allowed Javier and Lydia to make me feel that my parents were embarrassing.
Simple.
Provincial.
Unsophisticated.
Yet my mother had mailed homemade salsa to a home where she was rarely invited.
My father had packed avocados from a neighbor’s orchard because he remembered I liked them.
And Wyatt had traveled seven hours with both.
They had never stopped loving me.
I had simply stopped showing up.
“Dad?”
“Yes?”
“I’m sorry.”
“No.”
“I should’ve—”
“No.”
His voice became firm.
“We’ll talk about all that later. Right now, you protect yourself.”
The next divorce hearing brought our finances into sharper focus.
Javier’s attorney continued arguing that he had contributed significantly to Solara’s growth.
Rachel introduced the evidence of diverted company payments.
The judge ordered broader financial disclosure.
That was disastrous for Javier.
Because disclosure revealed something nobody expected.
He wasn’t wealthy.
He was nearly broke.
His salary had been decent.
But for years he spent far beyond it.
Luxury watches.
Cars.
Restaurants.
Trips.
Hotels.
Payments to Camila.
Transfers to Lydia.
Credit-card debt exceeding $180,000.
Personal loans.
And a $90,000 business loan tied to Alvarez Pacific Trading.
He hadn’t stolen from me because he was planning a prosperous future.
He stole because the image of success he had built was collapsing.
His “client meetings” were often dinners he paid for to impress potential investors.
His car was leased.
His expensive watches were financed.
Even some of Lydia’s designer clothing had been purchased on Javier’s credit cards.
Everything was appearance.
Rachel looked at me.
“He was trying to use your assets to rescue himself.”
“And fund the house.”
“Yes.”
“And his business.”
“Yes.”
“And pay Lydia.”
“Yes.”
I thought about the night Lydia slapped Wyatt.
Nobody comes here to eat for free.
Her entire lifestyle had apparently been subsidized by money that wasn’t hers.
The judge maintained restrictions preventing Javier from moving major assets.
Copper Crest Escrow returned the $150,000 to Solara pending final investigation.
The moment the money returned, I expected to feel relief.
Instead, I stared at the account balance.
“What?” Priya asked.
“I thought this would feel better.”
“It’s your money.”
“I know.”
“But?”
I looked through the glass wall of my office at seventy-three employees.
“It almost cost me everything.”
Priya shook her head.
“No.”
“What?”
“He almost took money.”
I looked at her.
“He didn’t take this.”
She pointed at the office.
“People.”
She was right.
Solara had survived because employees refused to panic.
Our retailers accepted independent product testing and kept contracts in place.
Suppliers confirmed the anonymous safety accusations were false.
The attack failed.
Then we received unexpected news.
A major retailer that had paused our launch reversed its decision.
Not only that.
They increased the order.
Public attention around the scandal had introduced Solara to thousands of new customers.
Sales surged.
I hated that personal humiliation benefited my business.
But seventy-three employees benefited too.
So I accepted the complicated blessing.
Three weeks later, my parents came to Phoenix.
My father entered the apartment carrying a toolbox.
Mom carried enough food to feed twenty people.
Dad looked at the damaged dining table.
“You flipped this?”
“Yes.”
He examined the broken leg.
“Good table.”
“I know.”
“You paid how much?”
“Dad.”
He shook his head.
“City people.”
Wyatt grinned.
Mom walked into the kitchen.
“Where’s Lydia?”
“Mom.”
“What? I just want to talk.”
“No.”
“I am very calm.”
“No.”
Dad whispered, “She is not calm.”
We ate dinner around a folding table.
Chicken.
Rice.
Beans.
Mom put the largest drumstick on Wyatt’s plate.
Everyone became silent.
Then Dad said, “Careful. Apparently those things cause lawsuits.”
Wyatt laughed so hard he almost dropped it.
For the first time since that horrible dinner, the memory felt smaller.
Not gone.
Smaller.
Then my doorbell rang.
I checked the camera.
Lydia.
Alone.
She looked nothing like the woman who had stormed out weeks earlier.
No expensive handbag.
No perfect makeup.
No arrogance.
Just exhaustion.
Mom stood.
“Is that her?”
“Sit down.”
“But—”
“Mom.”
I opened the door but didn’t invite Lydia inside.
“What do you want?”
Her eyes were red.
“I need to speak with you.”
“About the lawsuit?”
“About Javier.”
I waited.
She swallowed.
“He took money from me too.”
I almost laughed.
May you like
Then she said:
“Naomi, my son emptied my retirement account.”
