“He wrote, I know. I'll handle her.”
For several seconds, I forgot how to breathe.
My mother did not.
She turned toward Rachel so quickly that the chair beside her scraped across the hospital floor.
“Give me that flash drive.”
Rachel placed it in her hand.
My mother looked ready to walk directly into a police station and demand someone arrest my husband immediately.
“Mom.”
“No.”
“Mom.”
“No, Camila. Your husband just discussed handling you after you give birth. I am officially done being polite.”
“I don't know what he meant.”
“It doesn't matter. You're not going anywhere alone.”
Rachel wiped her eyes.
“I don't think he meant to hurt her physically.”
My mother stared at her.
“I don't think you're qualified to interpret that man's intentions.”
Rachel lowered her head.
Fair.
I looked at the flash drive.
“Did you read the entire conversation?”
“Some of it.”
“What came before that message?”
Rachel pulled out her phone.
“I took pictures.”
She handed it to me.
The messages were short.
Anonymous addresses.
Encrypted-looking strings.
Then:
NORTH: The numbers need to be clean before September.
ADRIAN: I'm working on it.
NORTH: You said that last month.
ADRIAN: Things changed.
NORTH: Because of the woman?
ADRIAN: Which one?
My stomach twisted.
Even in the middle of a financial nightmare, Adrian apparently still had room for terrible jokes.
NORTH: Your wife.
ADRIAN: She doesn't know anything.
NORTH: She owns the company.
ADRIAN: On paper.
Then:
NORTH: Once the baby arrives, Camila becomes the liability.
ADRIAN: I know. I'll handle her.
Another message appeared.
NORTH: You have three weeks.
I handed the phone back.
My mother whispered, “What happens in three weeks?”
I counted silently.
Three weeks.
That was almost my due date.
My blood turned cold.
Rachel saw my face.
“That's what scared me.”
“Did Adrian ever mention life insurance?”
She frowned.
“What?”
“Insurance. A policy on me.”
“No.”
Adrian worked in insurance.
He understood policies.
Beneficiaries.
Forms.
Paperwork.
Suddenly every document he had ever casually asked me to sign flashed through my mind.
Mortgage papers.
Tax forms.
Retirement forms.
Medical coverage.
I grabbed my phone.
Mariana answered immediately.
“How's Lucy?”
“Fine. I need you back here.”
Her voice changed.
“What happened?”
“Rachel brought evidence.”
Thirty seconds later, Mariana entered the room.
I showed her the messages.
She read them twice.
Then a third time.
“This goes to law enforcement.”
Rachel stiffened.
“I know.”
Mariana looked at her.
“You understand that handing this over may expose things you did too.”
“Yes.”
“You may need your own attorney.”
“I know.”
“And you should stop speaking with Adrian.”
Rachel gave a bitter little laugh.
“That won't be difficult.”
I looked at Mariana.
“What do you think ‘handle her’ means?”
“I'm not guessing.”
“You have an opinion.”
“I have several.”
“Tell me.”
“No.”
“Mariana.”
She sat beside me.
“Camila, your job is keeping yourself and Lucy safe. My job is stopping your imagination from making decisions before the evidence does.”
My mother crossed her arms.
“My imagination already has Adrian buried under a parking garage.”
“Which is why nobody is asking you.”
The nurse came in.
She checked the monitor.
Everything looked stable.
“You need rest.”
I almost laughed.
Rest.
Sure.
Maybe afterward I could meditate.
When she left, Mariana plugged the flash drive into her laptop.
Folders appeared.
BANK.
CML.
RECEIPTS.
EMAILS.
NORTH.
PERSONAL.
My stomach tightened at the last folder.
“Open North.”
Mariana clicked.
Dozens of documents appeared.
The oldest email was dated nine months earlier.
Nine months.
Before Rachel.
Before my pregnancy test.
Before I thought any of this had started.
Mariana opened it.
NORTH: I reviewed your situation. You need a clean borrower.
ADRIAN: My wife.
NORTH: Credit?
ADRIAN: Excellent.
NORTH: Debt?
ADRIAN: Low.
NORTH: Income?
ADRIAN: Enough.
NORTH: Would she cooperate?
ADRIAN: She doesn't need to know.
My hand went numb.
My mother covered her mouth.
Nine months.
He had planned to use me nine months earlier.
Before Lucy existed.
Before he could blame panic.
Before he could blame Rachel.
Before he could blame gambling.
This hadn't begun as desperation.
It had begun as a decision.
Mariana kept scrolling.
NORTH: You'll need an address not directly connected to your residence.
ADRIAN: My mother has property.
NORTH: Use it.
ADRIAN: And signatures?
NORTH: You know your wife better than I do.
My throat tightened.
“He forged them.”
“Yes,” Mariana said quietly.
Another message appeared.
ADRIAN: CML approved.
NORTH: Good.
ADRIAN: What does CML even stand for?
NORTH: Doesn't matter.
Then Adrian replied.
Camila Martinez-Lewis.
My maiden name.
My married name.
My initials.
CML.
I started laughing.
Not because it was funny.
Because rage sometimes needs somewhere to escape.
“He named it after me.”
My mother touched my shoulder.
“He stole my identity and named the company with my initials.”
Rachel whispered, “I didn't know.”
I looked at her.
“I believe you.”
She blinked.
That surprised both of us.
I wasn't forgiving her.
Not remotely.
But I believed she had not known this part.
There were different kinds of betrayal.
Rachel had participated in one.
Adrian had built an entire system.
Mariana opened another document.
A spreadsheet.
Rows of client names.
Payments.
Dates.
Account numbers.
Transfers.
One column was labeled N.
“What is N?”
“Probably North.”
The amounts were large.
Twelve thousand four hundred.
Twenty-eight thousand.
Seventeen thousand six hundred.
Forty-three thousand five hundred.
Money came in.
Money moved.
Some returned.
Some disappeared.
Some went into accounts connected to CML.
Mariana stopped.
“What?”
She enlarged one row.
A payment of seventy-four thousand dollars had been transferred to an account ending in 4408.
Beneficiary:
CAMILA LEWIS.
“That isn't my account.”
“I know.”
“How?”
“We checked your accounts this morning.”
“Then whose is it?”
She opened another document.
A bank statement.
Same account.
Same number.
Same beneficiary.
But the mailing address was different.
A post-office box in Queens.
“Someone opened a bank account under my name.”
“Someone did.”
Rachel moved closer.
“I've seen that number.”
We all turned.
“Where?”
“Adrian's phone.”
“How?”
“He used to receive alerts from an account ending in 4408.”
“Did you ever ask him?”
“He said it was a client trust account.”
Mariana looked grim.
“It wasn't.”
She opened more statements.
Hundreds of thousands had passed through the account.
Some transfers went to credit cards.
Some to CML.
Some back to Adrian's company.
Then we found recurring payments.
Four thousand two hundred dollars.
Every month.
Same recipient.
NORTHSTAR MANAGEMENT LLC.
My skin prickled.
“Northstar.”
Rachel whispered, “North.”
Mariana searched the files.
An invoice appeared.
NORTHSTAR MANAGEMENT LLC.
Strategic Consulting Services.
No recognizable address.
No phone number.
Only a registered agent.
Mariana began searching corporate records.
Minutes later, her face changed.
“What?”
“Northstar Management was dissolved two months ago.”
“Who owned it?”
“The filing lists another LLC.”
“And who owns that?”
She clicked again.
Another company.
Then another.
Shell after shell.
Layers designed to hide whoever sat at the center.
My mother stared at the screen.
“Whoever North is knows what they're doing.”
Exactly.
A knock came at the door.
We all froze.
The nurse stepped inside.
“There’s a gentleman asking to see you.”
My stomach dropped.
“Adrian?”
She checked.
“Yes.”
“No.”
The answer came from all of us.
The nurse blinked.
Mariana stood.
“Please tell security he isn't authorized to enter.”
The nurse nodded and left.
Thirty seconds later, my phone rang.
Adrian.
I declined.
Again.
Decline.
Then messages appeared.
PLEASE LET ME EXPLAIN.
YOU ARE IN DANGER IF YOU KEEP DIGGING.
STOP TALKING TO RACHEL.
Another:
SHE DOESN'T KNOW WHO SHE'S DEALING WITH.
Then:
NEITHER DO YOU.
My mother whispered, “Call the police.”
Mariana was already dialing.
Two officers arrived less than an hour later.
I told them everything.
The company.
The accounts.
The forged documents.
The messages.
North.
The statement about handling me.
Rachel handed over the flash drive.
They photographed her phone.
They asked whether Adrian owned weapons.
“No.”
Then I remembered something.
“Wait.”
Everyone looked at me.
“His father had a handgun.”
My mother's face changed.
“Where is it?”
“I don't know.”
After my father-in-law died, Teresa had supposedly given it to a family friend.
Supposedly.
The officer wrote it down.
They arranged for security to accompany me when I left.
They told me not to return to my house until they confirmed Adrian wasn't there.
By late afternoon, the contractions had stopped.
The doctor discharged me.
“You need to reduce stress.”
I stared at her.
“Could you write that on a prescription and give it to my husband?”
She smiled sympathetically.
Two officers waited outside.
My mother drove.
Mariana sat beside me.
Rachel stayed behind to answer more questions.
We went to my mother's house.
Not mine.
The locks were checked.
Curtains closed.
Phones charged.
For the first time in my adult life, I slept in my childhood bedroom because I was afraid of my husband.
At 2:11 a.m., my phone vibrated.
UNKNOWN NUMBER.
I stared at it.
I ignored it.
It rang again.
Then again.
On the fourth call, I answered.
“Hello?”
No voice.
Only breathing.
“Who is this?”
Silence.
Then a distorted voice.
“Tell Mariana to stop.”
The line went dead.
My whole body turned cold.
I ran downstairs.
My mother woke instantly.
“What happened?”
I showed her the phone.
Mariana, asleep on the couch, woke when we called her.
She contacted the detective.
The number appeared spoofed.
Untraceable.
But one thing was certain.
North knew about us.
Worse.
North knew Mariana's name.
At seven that morning, Mariana looked exhausted and furious.
“We need to assume someone has access to information we don't understand yet.”
My mother poured coffee.
“Could it be Adrian?”
“The voice could have been disguised.”
“But?”
“He's been texting Camila directly. Why suddenly hide?”
Exactly.
My phone buzzed.
An email.
No sender name.
Subject:
STOP.
Inside was one sentence.
YOU HAVE A DAUGHTER TO THINK ABOUT.
My knees weakened.
My mother read it over my shoulder.
Her face went gray.
Mariana photographed the screen.
“This changes things.”
“How?”
“Because now someone other than Adrian appears to be threatening you.”
My hand rested over Lucy.
Fear slowly became anger.
Whoever sent the message thought mentioning my daughter would make me obedient.
It had the opposite effect.
“They want me afraid.”
“They probably do.”
“Then they made a mistake.”
My mother sat beside me.
“What are you thinking?”
“I want to know who North is.”
For the next four hours, we examined every file Rachel had copied.
Email after email.
Invoice after invoice.
No names.
No photographs.
Nothing obvious.
Until Mariana found metadata attached to an old spreadsheet.
“Wait.”
“What?”
She clicked.
The document creator field showed initials.
L.M.
Rachel's boss was Lauren Menchaca.
My chest tightened.
“No.”
Mariana looked at me.
“Initials prove nothing.”
But suddenly every interaction with Lauren replayed in my head.
How quickly she had helped.
How easily she had accessed records.
How she had asked for the baby shower details.
How she had appeared there personally.
How she had called me first thing the next morning.
How she always seemed one step ahead.
“Could Lauren be North?”
“I don't know.”
My phone rang.
LAUREN MENCHACA.
Nobody moved.
It rang again.
I answered on speaker.
“Hello?”
“Camila.”
Lauren sounded rushed.
“Are you somewhere safe?”
“Yes.”
“Good.”
“Why?”
“I need you to listen carefully.”
Something in her voice made my skin prickle.
“I reviewed more internal records.”
“So have we.”
Silence.
“What does that mean?”
“I have copies of Adrian's files.”
“From where?”
“Rachel.”
Lauren cursed quietly.
“Camila, you should not have those.”
My heart began pounding.
“Why?”
“Because whoever Adrian was working with may know those files were copied.”
“Who was he working with?”
“I'm trying to determine that.”
“Someone called North.”
Absolute silence.
Lauren stopped breathing.
I looked at Mariana.
She was watching the phone.
Finally Lauren spoke.
“Where did you hear that name?”
There it was.
Not Who is North?
Where did you hear that name?
“You know it.”
“Camila—”
“You know who North is.”
“I need you to tell me exactly what Rachel gave you.”
“No.”
“Please.”
“No.”
Her voice sharpened.
“This is not a game.”
“I know. Someone threatened my daughter this morning.”
Lauren went silent.
Then:
“What?”
“An email.”
“What did it say?”
I told her.
Her breathing changed.
“Camila, listen to me. Do not respond to anything else. Do not contact Adrian. Do not contact Rachel.”
“And you?”
“What?”
“Should I stop contacting you too?”
Silence.
That silence frightened me more than any answer.
“Lauren.”
“I am trying to protect you.”
“From whom?”
She exhaled.
“North isn't one person.”
My blood went cold.
“What?”
“It's a name used internally.”
“By whom?”
“I can't explain this over the phone.”
“Yes, you can.”
“No.”
“Then I'm hanging up.”
“Camila, wait.”
I almost disconnected.
Then Lauren said:
“Your husband wasn't stealing company money by himself.”
“We know.”
“He wasn't even the person who started it.”
My grip tightened.
“Who did?”
“A group of employees has been moving money through dormant accounts, false vendors and client reimbursements for almost three years.”
Three years.
Long before Adrian's gambling debts.
Long before Rachel.
Long before CML.
“How many employees?”
“We don't know.”
“How are you involved?”
“I found evidence last year.”
“And you didn't report it?”
“I tried.”
“To whom?”
“Our former chief financial officer.”
“What happened?”
“He disappeared.”
Nobody in the room moved.
“What do you mean disappeared?”
“He resigned without notice. Two weeks later, he moved overseas.”
“Where?”
“No one knows.”
My mother whispered, “Oh my God.”
Lauren continued.
“After that, I started collecting evidence privately.”
“So why did you act surprised when I told you about Adrian?”
“Because I didn't know he was involved until you sent me those messages.”
I wanted to believe her.
I desperately wanted one person in this nightmare to be telling the truth.
“What about L.M. in the spreadsheet?”
Lauren went silent.
Then:
“That was me.”
Mariana's eyes narrowed.
“You created the spreadsheet.”
“I copied transactions into a separate file while investigating.”
“Why was it on Adrian's drive?”
“I don't know.”
“You expect me to believe that?”
“No.”
That answer stopped me.
“I expect you to verify everything I say.”
Rachel had said almost exactly the same thing.
Maybe truthful people sounded that way.
Or maybe liars had learned the same language.
“Who is North?”
“I told you. It isn't one person.”
“Then what is it?”
“A communication name.”
“For the group?”
“For whoever is giving instructions at the time.”
My skin crawled.
“So Adrian might not know who he was talking to?”
“Exactly.”
“Then how do we find them?”
Lauren hesitated.
“There is one person who might know.”
“Who?”
“Adrian's mother.”
My heart sank.
“Teresa?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because Northstar Management existed before your fake company.”
“We know.”
“But you probably don't know who originally incorporated it.”
“Who?”
Lauren said:
“Your father-in-law.”
Silence swallowed the room.
“My father-in-law is dead.”
“I know.”
“He died four years ago.”
“I know.”
“Northstar was created three years ago.”
“No.”
Lauren's voice dropped.
“The company you found was created three years ago.”
I frowned.
“What does that mean?”
“There was an older Northstar.”
“How old?”
“Eleven years.”
I stopped breathing.
“Owned by Adrian's father?”
“Yes.”
“What did it do?”
“That is what you need to ask Teresa.”
I stood.
“No.”
“Camila—”
“She already lied.”
“I know.”
“She helped Adrian use my identity.”
“I know.”
“Then why would she tell me anything?”
“Because there's something she doesn't know you have.”
“What?”
Lauren took a breath.
“A payment record.”
“What payment?”
“The original Northstar account made one final transfer before it closed.”
My heart pounded.
“How much?”
“Six hundred thousand dollars.”
My mother gasped.
“To whom?”
Lauren hesitated.
“Teresa.”
The room went dead silent.
Six hundred thousand dollars.
Adrian had told me Teresa loaned him eighty thousand from the sale of his father's property.
He had never mentioned six hundred thousand.
“What happened to it?”
“That is what I've been trying to find out.”
Mariana was already reaching for her keys.
My mother shook her head.
“You are not going to Teresa's house.”
“We're not,” Mariana said.
“Then what?”
“We're asking the police to bring her here.”
Two hours later, Teresa arrived at my mother's house with a detective.
She looked exhausted.
Her hair was messy.
Her face was bare.
When she saw me, her eyes filled.
“Camila.”
I didn't hug her.
“Sit down.”
She did.
Mariana placed the printed bank record on the table.
Teresa looked at it.
Her face changed immediately.
That was all I needed.
“You recognize it.”
She said nothing.
“Six hundred thousand dollars.”
Teresa closed her eyes.
“Where did you get this?”
“So it's real.”
She opened her eyes.
“Camila.”
“What was Northstar?”
Her hands began shaking.
“Who told you that name?”
Everyone kept asking me that.
Never What is it?
Always Who told you?
“What was Northstar?”
Teresa looked toward the detective.
Then Mariana.
Finally she whispered:
“It was my husband's company.”
“For what?”
“Investments.”
“Illegal ones?”
She looked down.
My heart sank.
“Teresa.”
“He moved money for people.”
“What people?”
“I never asked.”
“That is a lie.”
She looked at me.
“I learned not to ask.”
The fear in her face was real.
“What happened to the six hundred thousand?”
“It was supposed to disappear.”
“What does that mean?”
“Before my husband died, he told me to close everything.”
“Why?”
“Because he wanted out.”
“Out of what?”
She started crying.
“I don't know all of it.”
“Stop saying that.”
“I swear.”
“What did he tell you?”
Teresa wiped her face.
“He said there were people at Adrian's company using insurance accounts to move money. He helped them create vendors and accounts.”
“How long?”
“Years.”
“And when he died?”
“He left me instructions.”
“What instructions?”
“To take the six hundred thousand and never touch it.”
I stared at her.
“You told Adrian about it.”
“No.”
“Yes, you did.”
“Not until last year.”
There it was.
“What happened last year?”
“He came to me crying about his debts.”
“And you gave him access.”
“I gave him eighty thousand.”
“What about the rest?”
“I told him it didn't exist.”
“Then how did he learn about Northstar?”
Teresa's face collapsed.
“He found his father's files.”
Everything clicked.
Adrian discovered the old network.
He had debt.
He found money.
Someone noticed.
“North contacted him after that?”
“I think so.”
“You think?”
“He started asking strange questions.”
“What questions?”
“About accounts. Names. His father's old contacts.”
She looked at me.
“Then one night he came over terrified.”
“When?”
“About nine months ago.”
Exactly when the first North message appeared.
“What did he say?”
“That someone knew about his gambling debt.”
My skin went cold.
“He was being blackmailed.”
Teresa nodded.
“At first.”
“At first?”
“He said they could make the debt disappear if he helped with transfers.”
“And you let him use me.”
Her face crumpled.
“He told me the business in your name was temporary.”
“You believed that?”
“I wanted to.”
“You helped him.”
“Yes.”
Finally.
No excuse.
No pretty explanation.
“Yes.”
Tears ran down her face.
“And the six hundred thousand?”
Her expression changed.
“It's gone.”
Mariana leaned forward.
“What?”
“I checked three months ago.”
“Where was it?”
“A private account.”
“And it disappeared?”
“Transferred.”
“To whom?”
“I don't know.”
“When?”
Teresa swallowed.
“The same week Camila became pregnant.”
Every hair on my arms rose.
The timing again.
My pregnancy.
Always my pregnancy.
“Why does everything happen when I become pregnant?”
Teresa started crying harder.
“I don't know.”
Then my phone rang.
Adrian.
I looked at the detective.
He nodded.
“Answer.”
I put the phone on speaker.
“Hello?”
For several seconds there was only breathing.
Then Adrian spoke.
“You're with my mother.”
Not a question.
“How do you know?”
“Because they told me.”
My blood turned cold.
“Who?”
“North.”
Teresa went pale.
“Adrian.”
He heard her.
“Mom.”
His voice broke.
“You should have burned Dad's files.”
Teresa covered her mouth.
I leaned toward the phone.
“Where are you?”
“Camila, listen to me.”
“Where are you?”
“I can't tell you.”
“Why?”
“Because they're watching.”
“Who is they?”
“I don't know anymore.”
That answer sounded genuine.
“Did you send the threats?”
“No.”
“Did you write that you would handle me?”
Silence.
“Yes.”
“What did you mean?”
“I was going to convince you to sign documents after Lucy was born.”
My knees nearly gave out.
“That's all?”
“Yes.”
“You swear?”
“Yes.”
I closed my eyes.
Relief shouldn't have been what I felt.
But after imagining worse, financial manipulation almost sounded merciful.
“What documents?”
“Loan consolidation. Transfers. Things North needed.”
“Why after the baby?”
“Because they said you'd be easier to convince while you were home.”
I wanted to vomit.
“They planned around my recovery?”
“Yes.”
Teresa sobbed.
I looked at her.
Maybe this part truly was new to her.
“Adrian, come to the police.”
“I can't.”
“Yes, you can.”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because I tried.”
The detective leaned closer.
“What happened?”
Adrian's breathing became uneven.
“I went to meet someone.”
“Who?”
“I thought it was North.”
“When?”
“Last night.”
“Where?”
“A parking garage near the office.”
“What happened?”
“Nobody came.”
“Then why are you hiding?”
“Because when I got back to my car, there was a photograph on the windshield.”
My skin prickled.
“A photograph of what?”
He began crying.
“You.”
My mother grabbed my hand.
“What kind of photograph?”
“You leaving the hospital.”
The room went completely still.
Someone had watched me leave.
“Adrian,” the detective said, “you need to tell us your location.”
“I can't.”
“We can protect you.”
“You don't understand.”
“Help us understand.”
Adrian took a shaky breath.
“They sent another picture twenty minutes ago.”
“Of who?”
Silence.
“Adrian?”
“My daughter's nursery.”
My entire body went numb.
“The nursery?”
“Inside our house.”
Someone had been inside.
“How do you know?”
“The picture was taken today.”
My mother whispered, “Jesus.”
I could barely speak.
“How do you know?”
“Because the crib wasn't assembled yesterday.”
I froze.
He was right.
My brother had finished assembling it while I was at the baby shower.
Someone had entered our house afterward.
Someone had stood inside Lucy's room.
“What did the message say?”
Adrian began sobbing.
“Tell Camila to return what belongs to us.”
I looked at Teresa.
She stopped breathing.
“What belongs to them?”
“I don't know.”
But Teresa did.
I saw it in her face.
Her eyes dropped.
Her hands clenched.
“Teresa.”
She said nothing.
I stood.
“What do they want?”
“Camila—”
“What do they want back?”
Her entire body started shaking.
“I thought it was gone.”
“What?”
“The six hundred thousand.”
“You said it disappeared.”
“It did.”
“Then what are they asking for?”
She stared at me with terror in her eyes.
“Not the money.”
My heart hammered.
“What, then?”
Teresa slowly reached beneath her blouse.
She pulled out a thin gold chain.
Hanging from it was a tiny brass key.
I stared at it.
“What is that?”
“My husband gave it to me three days before he died.”
“A key to what?”
“I never knew.”
Mariana stood.
“Then why would anyone want it?”
Teresa looked toward the phone, where Adrian's breathing still came faintly through the speaker.
Then she looked back at me.
“My husband told me that if Northstar ever came back…”
Her voice cracked.
“…this key was the only thing that could destroy them.”
Click here to continue reading: PART 5: The Key Had Nothing to Do With Money, and What Teresa Finally Told Us Made Adrian’s Betrayal Look Like the Smallest Part
I Thought My Husband Was Planning a Baby Shower Speech Until One Message Made Me Question Everything I Knew About Him
Part 4 of 20
