Chapter 2 - The Blue Folder
I sat in the cold, leather driver’s seat of my car, staring at my phone screen in the dim light of the restaurant parking lot. My hands were trembling, but not from the evening chill blowing in from the Pacific Ocean. I was shaking from absolute, terrifying clarity.
Benedict’s text message glowed in the dark: “Come back now. The bill is $4,800, and the manager is already here.”
I didn’t reply. I didn’t block his number yet, either. I needed to see exactly how far he was willing to go.
Three minutes later, my phone buzzed again.
“Fine. You want to play hardball? I just gave the manager your corporate American Express card number. The one you keep in your desk drawer. I took a photo of it this morning. Happy Birthday to my mom.”
My breath hitched. My corporate card. If he ran an unauthorized $4,800 charge for a personal family dinner at a luxury seafood restaurant, my company’s finance department would flag it instantly. I could lose my job, my reputation, and my entire career in a matter of seconds.
I scrambled to dial the fraud prevention number on the back of my personal credit card, navigating the automated menus with frantic, clumsy fingers. When a representative finally answered, I didn't hesitate.
“My husband stole my corporate card information. I need to decline a charge from a restaurant in Del Mar, California. Immediately.”
“Let me check the pending authorizations, ma'am,” the representative said, her voice entirely too calm for the panic tearing through my chest. “Yes, I see a manual entry attempt for four thousand, eight hundred, and twenty-two dollars. I am declining it now and freezing the account.”
I slumped against the steering wheel, letting out a jagged exhale. He had actually tried to do it. The man I had shared a bed with for four years was perfectly willing to destroy my livelihood to save face in front of his greedy mother.
But Benedict’s desperation didn’t make sense. Why was he so willing to cross that line?
I reached over to the passenger seat and picked up the thick, heavy object I had grabbed from his home office before heading to the dinner.
It was a faded blue folder.
I had gone into his study looking for a stamp. The folder had been wedged between his desk and the wall, looking as though it had been kicked out of sight in a hurry. When I had picked it up, expecting old bills, I had found bank statements.
Now, under the harsh yellow glow of the streetlamp, I opened the blue folder again and forced myself to look closely at the numbers.
They were statements for an account at a local credit union. The account was in Benedict’s name, but the balances were staggering. There were deposits of $2,000, $3,500, and $5,000, occurring almost weekly for the past two years.
Where was this money coming from? His salary as an administrative assistant barely covered his motorcycle payments.
I traced my finger down the transaction column. Every single month, immediately after my paycheck hit our joint account to cover our “household expenses,” Benedict was transferring massive sums out of his personal account into a corporate entity called Seaside Ventures LLC.
Over eighty thousand dollars was missing.
I had been paying the mortgage, the groceries, and his mother’s expensive medications, firmly believing he had nothing to spare. All the while, he had been funneling tens of thousands of dollars to this mysterious LLC.
I flipped to the back of the folder and found the incorporation documents for Seaside Ventures LLC.
My heart completely stopped.
The registered agent and sole proprietor of the LLC was Gertrude.
My mother-in-law.
But the betrayal didn't stop there. I looked at the business address registered to the LLC. It wasn't a residential address. It was a commercial property on the coast.
I typed the address into my phone’s GPS.
It was the exact address of the upscale seafood restaurant I had just walked out of.
Gertrude hadn't just booked a private room. She was a silent partner in the restaurant. The $4,800 dinner wasn't just a lavish birthday party. It was a calculated scheme to funnel my hard-earned money directly into her failing business through inflated food and champagne charges. They were laughing at me while picking my pockets.
My phone vibrated violently against the center console.
May you like
It was another text from Benedict.
“The corporate card declined. You really are a selfish, cheap piece of work. Since you want to play games, I hope you’re ready for the consequences. I’m sitting in your mother’s living room right now. And Eleanor is reaching for her checkbook to bail us out.”
