“How much money?”
My voice barely sounded like mine.
Lauren was quiet for two seconds.
“Two hundred and eighty-seven thousand dollars that we've identified so far.”
I sat completely still.
Then I looked around my mother's guest room as though someone might appear and explain why a stranger's number had just been placed inside my life.
“Two hundred and eighty-seven thousand?”
“That is what we have confirmed.”
“Confirmed?”
“We're still tracing transactions.”
I swung my legs over the side of the bed.
“Lauren, Adrian and I don't have that kind of money.”
“I know.”
“How do you know?”
“Because some of the transfers appear to involve client payments.”
My stomach dropped.
“What?”
“Our compliance team noticed irregularities after the messages you provided. Several trips connected to Adrian had been charged to company accounts.”
I pressed my palm against my forehead.
“And?”
“We found reimbursement requests tied to projects that don't exist.”
I closed my eyes.
“Lauren…”
“There’s more.”
Of course there was.
There always seemed to be more.
A day earlier, my biggest problem had been my husband's affair.
Now I was sitting seven months pregnant wondering whether the man who had promised to protect me had used my identity to move money.
“What does my name have to do with it?”
“Several payments went through a consulting company.”
“What company?”
“CML Consulting Group.”
I frowned.
“I've never heard of it.”
“We checked the registration.”
My heartbeat accelerated.
“It’s registered to you.”
“No.”
“Camila—”
“No. I don't own a consulting company.”
“That is why I called.”
I stood too quickly.
The room tilted.
I caught the dresser.
Lucy kicked.
Hard.
“Are you all right?”
“I’m seven months pregnant and apparently I own a secret company laundering my husband's money. Define all right.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Tell me everything.”
“I can't send company records until legal approves it.”
“Then tell me what you can.”
She sighed.
“The company was incorporated eight months ago.”
Eight months.
I counted backward.
Eight months ago, Adrian and I had been trying to have a baby.
Eight months ago, he brought me flowers every Friday.
Eight months ago, he made dinner reservations because he said we needed more romance before parenthood made us boring.
Eight months ago, apparently, he had begun building something in my name.
“What address is listed?”
Lauren gave it to me.
I knew it.
My blood turned cold.
“That’s Teresa's old apartment.”
“Yes.”
“The apartment she rented after moving into her condo?”
“Yes.”
I sat down.
“Lauren, that property belongs to Adrian's mother.”
There was a pause.
“That may matter.”
My marriage was turning into evidence.
I ended the call and immediately phoned Mariana.
She answered on the second ring.
“If you're calling because the baby is coming, I am not emotionally prepared. I am still recovering from yesterday's revenge cupcakes.”
“Adrian opened a company in my name.”
Silence.
“Say that again.”
I explained.
The transfers.
The amount.
The company.
The address.
When I finished, her tone changed.
The joking cousin disappeared.
The attorney took over.
“Do not call Adrian.”
“I wasn't planning to.”
“Do not call Teresa.”
That one hurt.
“Why?”
“Because if she is involved, we don't want to warn her.”
I stared at the wall.
“She hugged me yesterday.”
“I know.”
“She cried.”
“I know.”
“She told Adrian to sleep on her couch.”
“I know.”
“What if she knew?”
“Then we find out.”
Twenty minutes later, Mariana arrived at my mother's house with two coffees, a laptop and the expression of someone who had just found a much larger problem than expected.
My mother hovered over us.
“What company?”
“Mom.”
“No. Don't ‘Mom’ me. If that man stole your identity, I want names and addresses.”
Mariana looked impressed.
“I've always liked your mother.”
My mother pointed toward the kitchen.
“There are knives.”
“Mom.”
“For vegetables.”
Mariana opened the laptop.
“First, credit report.”
“I check my credit.”
“When?”
“Maybe six months ago.”
“Today.”
We logged in.
The first inquiry appeared.
Then another.
Then a business line of credit.
Ninety-five thousand dollars.
My name.
My Social Security number.
My address.
My stomach turned.
“I didn't open that.”
“I know,” Mariana said.
Another account appeared.
A business credit card.
Limit: forty thousand.
Balance: thirty-one thousand, seven hundred eighty-two dollars.
I felt sick.
My mother sat beside me.
“Oh, sweetheart.”
“I didn't spend this.”
Mariana started taking screenshots.
“Keep saying that.”
“What?”
“That you did not authorize anything. Every account we find, say it out loud.”
She clicked again.
Then stopped.
“What?”
She didn't answer.
“Mariana.”
“There’s a second authorized user.”
“Who?”
She turned the laptop toward me.
TERESA VEGA.
My mother whispered, “No.”
I stared at the name.
Authorized user.
There was no confusion.
No coincidence.
Teresa was connected.
Yesterday she had cried when I exposed Adrian.
Yesterday she had called him disgraceful.
Yesterday she had told him not to follow Rachel.
And now her name sat on a business account opened under my identity.
My phone rang.
TERESA.
All three of us looked at the screen.
“Don't answer,” Mariana said.
I let it ring.
It stopped.
Then a message arrived.
CAMILA, WE NEED TO TALK BEFORE ADRIAN TELLS YOU SOMETHING THAT ISN'T TRUE.
Another message.
PLEASE. THERE ARE THINGS ABOUT THE MONEY YOU DON'T UNDERSTAND.
Then:
I WAS TRYING TO PROTECT YOUR FAMILY.
I laughed.
Protect my family.
Apparently fraud had become an act of love.
Teresa called again.
Mariana held out her hand.
“Speaker.”
I answered.
“Hello?”
“Camila.”
Teresa sounded breathless.
“Where are you?”
“Why?”
“I need to see you.”
“What money, Teresa?”
Silence.
“Camila—”
“What money?”
“You're upset.”
“I am pregnant, cheated on, and apparently the owner of a company I've never heard of. Yes, I'm upset.”
My mother covered her mouth.
Mariana typed notes.
Teresa lowered her voice.
“Adrian made mistakes.”
“That sentence is becoming very popular.”
“But he did not steal from you.”
“Then why is your name attached to a credit card opened under mine?”
Silence.
I looked at Mariana.
Her eyebrows rose.
Finally Teresa said, “He told me you knew.”
“Knew what?”
“The company.”
“I didn't.”
“I swear, Camila. He told me it was part of your financial planning.”
“My financial planning?”
“He said you wanted to build business credit and buy investment property after the baby.”
The lie was detailed.
Specific.
Believable.
Adrian knew exactly how to make fiction sound like something I might actually do.
“Then why were you an authorized user?”
Teresa hesitated.
“He asked me to help with purchases.”
“What purchases?”
“Furniture. Electronics. Office equipment.”
“For what office?”
No answer.
“Teresa.”
“I don't know.”
“You spent money from an account in my name and don't know where it went?”
“I trusted my son.”
There it was.
Trust Adrian.
Believe Adrian.
Protect Adrian.
Until somebody else paid the price.
“How much did you spend?”
“Maybe fifteen thousand.”
“On what?”
“A laptop. Two phones. Furniture.”
“Where are they?”
“I don't know.”
My eyes closed.
“How do you spend fifteen thousand dollars and not know where the things went?”
Her voice cracked.
“Adrian picked everything up.”
I suddenly remembered the new laptop he had brought home.
The new phone.
The stories about upgrading equipment.
Then I remembered Rachel.
“Was Rachel ever with him when he used the card?”
Teresa went silent.
That silence answered me.
“Was she?”
“Yes.”
My body went cold.
“What did they buy?”
“A television.”
“For where?”
“I thought his office.”
“Anything else?”
“A sofa.”
A television.
A sofa.
Phones.
Laptop.
Furniture.
The Hamptons trips.
The late nights.
The messages.
Then I remembered one sentence I had previously ignored.
Rachel had written:
I love our little place.
At the time, I thought she meant a restaurant.
A hotel.
Some private corner of the city.
Now the words looked different.
“Teresa,” I said. “Does Adrian rent an apartment?”
Silence.
“Answer me.”
“I don't know.”
“You hesitated.”
“I don't know everything he does.”
I hung up.
My mother looked at me.
“What are you thinking?”
I pulled up the screenshots.
I searched Rachel's messages.
There.
RACHEL: I wish you were here tonight.
ADRIAN: Soon, queen.
RACHEL: The neighbors are loud again.
ADRIAN: I'll deal with it this weekend.
RACHEL: Bring groceries. There's nothing here.
My heart started pounding.
“They have an apartment.”
Mariana leaned closer.
“What?”
“He has another home.”
I scrolled further.
Then I found a photograph.
Rachel stood in front of a mirror wearing a red dress.
Behind her was a gray sofa.
A large television.
A glass coffee table.
I zoomed in.
A small blue ceramic bowl sat on the table.
I knew that bowl.
Teresa had bought two identical ones in Portugal.
One was in her condo.
The other had disappeared from the old apartment.
I showed Mariana.
She stared.
“That bowl came from Teresa's place.”
“The old apartment.”
The address attached to CML.
The property connected to Teresa.
The apartment where Rachel apparently lived.
My mother stood.
“Give me my keys.”
“No.”
“We're going.”
“Mom.”
Mariana closed the laptop.
“Actually, nobody is going anywhere.”
My mother glared.
“Why?”
“Because if that apartment contains evidence, we don't touch it.”
“Evidence of what?”
“Fraud.”
The word sat between us.
Not adultery.
Not betrayal.
Fraud.
Mariana called her firm.
Then an identity theft specialist.
Then someone who could freeze my credit.
Within an hour, my accounts were flagged.
My credit was frozen.
Every suspicious record was being documented.
Then my phone buzzed.
ADRIAN.
I didn't answer.
Another call.
Another.
Then a message.
DO NOT BELIEVE WHAT MY MOTHER TELLS YOU. SHE'S THE ONE WHO SET EVERYTHING UP.
Another:
CAMILA, CALL ME BEFORE SHE DESTROYS BOTH OF US.
I showed Mariana.
“The rats have started eating each other,” she said.
My phone rang again.
This time I answered.
“What?”
“Camila, thank God.”
Adrian sounded frantic.
“What did my mother tell you?”
“That she used a credit card in my name because you told her I approved it.”
“She’s lying.”
“She admitted using it.”
“She knew what the company was for.”
“What was CML for?”
Silence.
“What was it for, Adrian?”
“It was supposed to be temporary.”
“For what?”
“I was moving money.”
“Whose?”
“It’s complicated.”
“Try me.”
“I had debts.”
“What debts?”
“Investments.”
“What investments?”
“Crypto. Sports. Other things.”
I closed my eyes.
“Gambling?”
“No.”
“That pause sounded expensive.”
“I made bad decisions.”
“How much?”
He didn't answer.
“How much?”
“Before I started moving things around?”
“Yes.”
“About one hundred and eighty.”
“Thousand?”
“Yes.”
My mother sat down.
He had lost one hundred eighty thousand dollars.
“How?”
“I thought I could recover it.”
“So you opened a company in my name?”
“My credit was destroyed.”
Mine wasn't.
That was what he meant.
He had used me because I was still financially useful.
“You stole my identity.”
“I was going to pay everything back.”
“You used my Social Security number.”
“We're married.”
“That is not permission.”
“I know.”
“No, Adrian. You clearly don't.”
He began crying.
For years, his tears would have destroyed me.
Now they only made me listen harder.
“I panicked.”
“You forged my signature.”
“I didn't forge—”
“Then how did I open a business?”
Silence.
“Who helped you?”
“No one.”
“Wrong answer.”
“Camila.”
“Did Rachel know?”
Pause.
My heart sank.
“Did she?”
“Not at first.”
“When did she find out?”
“A few months ago.”
“And she stayed?”
“She thought I was fixing it.”
“Was the apartment paid for with money from those accounts?”
Silence.
“Adrian.”
“Yes.”
I pressed my fist against my mouth.
My name.
My credit.
My identity.
His mistress's apartment.
“You financed your affair with debt in my name.”
“It wasn't like that.”
“What exactly was it like?”
“I was planning to sell some investments.”
“You didn't have investments. You had losses.”
“I could recover.”
“And when you told Rachel you were going to fix everything, what did that mean?”
Silence.
“Were you planning to leave me?”
“No.”
The answer came too quickly.
“Adrian.”
“I didn't know what I was doing.”
“You knew enough to create a company.”
“I was trapped.”
“By whom?”
Silence.
Then he said something I didn't expect.
“My mother.”
I looked at Mariana.
“What?”
“She knew everything.”
“That isn't what she said.”
“Of course not. She's protecting herself.”
“What did she know?”
“Everything.”
Mariana moved closer.
“Speaker,” she mouthed.
I pressed the button.
Adrian continued.
“She found out about the debt before you got pregnant.”
My stomach dropped.
Before.
Before Lucy.
Before the affair.
Before the fake company.
“What happened?”
“She offered to help me.”
“How?”
“She had money from selling Dad's old property.”
My father-in-law had died four years earlier.
Teresa had told me the money went into retirement.
“She loaned you money?”
“At first.”
“How much?”
“Eighty thousand.”
“And you lost that too?”
“Yes.”
Adrian's breathing became uneven.
“That's when she came up with the company.”
I froze.
“She came up with it?”
“She knew your credit was good.”
Mariana's expression hardened.
“And she knew you wouldn't check because you were focused on getting pregnant.”
My hand moved over my stomach.
There it was.
The part I couldn't forgive.
They had calculated my distraction.
My hope.
My pregnancy.
They had looked at the happiest thing in my life and decided it made me easier to deceive.
“And the client payments?” I asked.
Adrian stopped.
Lauren's warning came back.
Client payments.
Company money.
“What did you do with client money?”
“I didn't steal it.”
“Then explain.”
“I redirected some payments temporarily.”
“That sounds exactly like stealing.”
“I was putting it back.”
“Were you?”
Silence.
“How much is missing?”
“I don't know.”
“You know.”
“I don't know the final number.”
“How much?”
His voice broke.
“Maybe four hundred.”
My mother grabbed my arm.
“Four hundred thousand?”
“Some of it was replaced.”
“How much is still missing?”
“I don't know!”
Lucy kicked sharply.
Pain tightened across my lower abdomen.
I doubled over.
“Camila?”
Mariana grabbed the phone.
“We're done.”
She disconnected.
My mother knelt in front of me.
“Are you having contractions?”
“No.”
Another cramp came.
Then faded.
“We're going to the hospital.”
“I'm fine.”
“You are not fine.”
Twenty-five minutes later, I was in maternity triage with monitors strapped around my stomach.
Lucy’s heartbeat filled the room.
Strong.
Fast.
Beautiful.
I started crying.
Not because something was wrong.
Because after a day filled with lies, fraud, an affair and secret accounts, that heartbeat was the only thing I trusted.
The doctor examined me.
“Your baby looks good.”
I exhaled.
“You're having some uterine irritability, probably worsened by stress and dehydration. We'll monitor you.”
My mother sat beside the bed.
Mariana stepped outside to make calls.
I closed my eyes.
Then someone knocked.
I opened them.
Rachel stood in the doorway.
She looked nothing like the woman who had walked into my baby shower.
Her hair was tied back.
Her face was bare.
Her eyes were swollen.
“What are you doing here?”
She lifted both hands.
“I'm not here to fight.”
My mother stood.
“Then you picked the wrong room.”
“Mom.”
Rachel swallowed.
“I heard Adrian tell Lauren you were at the hospital.”
“How did you hear that?”
“He came to the office.”
Of course he had.
“I need five minutes,” Rachel said.
“You've had six months.”
“I know.”
That answer stopped me.
She looked down.
“I know.”
“What do you want?”
She reached into her purse.
“I brought you something.”
Rachel pulled out a small black flash drive.
She placed it on the tray.
“What is that?”
“Everything Adrian kept at the apartment.”
My heartbeat changed.
“What do you mean everything?”
“Bank statements. Spreadsheets. Transfers. Emails. Screenshots.”
“Why do you have them?”
“Because three months ago, I realized he was lying to me too.”
“Congratulations.”
“I deserve that.”
“Yes.”
She nodded.
“But I stayed because I thought if I left, I'd never find out what he was doing.”
“Why should I believe you?”
“You shouldn't.”
That answer stopped me.
“You shouldn't believe anything I say without proof.”
She pointed to the drive.
“So I brought proof.”
I looked at it.
“What's on there?”
Her face changed.
Fear.
Real fear.
“Adrian wasn't working alone.”
“I know. His mother helped him.”
Rachel shook her head.
“No.”
My stomach tightened.
“Then who?”
“Someone from his company.”
Lauren's name entered my mind immediately.
No.
Lauren had helped me.
Lauren had exposed Adrian.
“Who?”
Rachel hesitated.
“I don't know their real name.”
“Then what did Adrian call them?”
She looked toward the hallway.
“North.”
“North?”
“Yes.”
“Who is North?”
“I don't know.”
“What do they do?”
“Adrian would take calls outside. Late at night. Whenever North called, he panicked.”
“Is North on the drive?”
Rachel nodded.
“Emails.”
“Can they identify the person?”
“Maybe.”
“Why didn't you take this to the police?”
Her eyes filled.
“Because I'm implicated too.”
“How?”
“The apartment.”
“What about it?”
“My name is on the lease paperwork.”
“I thought Teresa owned it.”
“The building does.”
I stared at her.
“What?”
“Teresa never sold the apartment.”
My mother and I exchanged a look.
“Adrian told me she rented it to us privately,” Rachel continued. “I paid him part of the rent every month.”
“With what?”
“My own money.”
“And where did your payments go?”
“I don't know.”
Another hidden stream.
Another account.
Another lie.
Rachel wiped her cheek.
“I also used one of the business cards.”
“You knew it was in my name?”
“No. Adrian told me it belonged to him.”
“When did you find out?”
“Four days ago.”
Before the baby shower.
“You knew before you came.”
“Yes.”
“And you still came?”
Tears spilled down her face.
“I thought you already knew.”
“What?”
“Adrian told me you invited me because you wanted to talk privately after the party.”
I laughed bitterly.
“He told you that?”
“Yes.”
“And you believed him?”
“I believed a lot of things.”
“So did I.”
For a moment, neither woman spoke.
Then my mother pointed at the flash drive.
“What exactly frightened you enough to bring this here?”
Rachel's face went pale.
“There’s an email from North dated three weeks ago.”
“What does it say?”
“It mentions you.”
My throat tightened.
“What about me?”
Rachel looked at me.
“It says, Once the baby arrives, Camila becomes the liability.”
The room went silent.
My mother stood.
“What does that mean?”
“I don't know.”
Rachel's voice shook.
“But there's another message underneath.”
“What message?”
She swallowed.
“Adrian replied.”
My fingers went numb.
“What did he say?”
Rachel started crying.
“He wrote, I know. I'll handle her.”
Click here to continue reading: PART 4: The Threat Was Bigger Than My Husband, and One Old Family Secret Revealed Why Someone Wanted Me Silent Before Lucy Arrived
I Thought My Husband Was Planning a Baby Shower Speech Until One Message Made Me Question Everything I Knew About Him
Part 3 of 20
