Chapter 6
I had never believed in spying on my wife.
For six years, I had respected Jasmine's privacy.
I didn't search her phone.
I didn't read her messages.
I didn't question every friendship.
I believed marriage required trust.
Now I was sitting in my attorney's office, staring at evidence suggesting that the trust I had given her had been used against me.
Rebecca placed Victor's handwritten note in an evidence folder.
"Arthur, we're going to verify the handwriting and determine how these documents were created."
I nodded.
"Do we have enough to report this?"
"We have enough concerns to make a formal report and cooperate with investigators. We should avoid deciding guilt ourselves."
I looked toward Lorraine.
She was sitting beside the window, holding a tissue.
For years, I had considered her a difficult woman.
She could be demanding.
Critical.
Quick to defend Jasmine.
But watching her now, I saw a mother struggling to understand what her daughter had done.
"I'm sorry," she whispered again.
I shook my head.
"You didn't create these documents."
"No."
She looked at the box.
"But I ignored warning signs."
I understood that feeling.
Better than anyone.
By the end of the week, our company's independent accountants had completed the first major stage of their review.
The findings were painful.
Approximately one hundred forty thousand dollars in company transactions lacked valid business justification.
Some involved personal purchases.
Others appeared connected to Horizon Lifestyle Solutions and the condo.
Additional attempted payments had been stopped before completion.
The accounting review couldn't establish criminal intent on its own.
But the evidence was serious enough that Rebecca prepared a referral to the appropriate authorities.
I approved it.
Then I sat in my office for nearly an hour.
Alone.
My company employed more than sixty people.
Sixty families depended on our payroll.
I thought about the workers who had stayed late on construction sites.
The office staff who answered phones during storms.
The supervisors who worked weekends to meet deadlines.
They trusted me to protect the business.
And I had allowed someone close to me access that should never have been so loosely controlled.
I felt ashamed.
Then Daniel entered.
He placed a cup of coffee on my desk.
"Arthur, you need to hear something."
I looked up.
"What?"
"The employees know there's an investigation."
My stomach tightened.
"Are they worried?"
"Some are."
I rubbed my forehead.
"I don't want anyone losing sleep over this."
Daniel sat opposite me.
"Then talk to them."
I looked at him.
"What would I say?"
"The truth. That we're investigating. That the company is stable. That their jobs matter."
I nodded slowly.
He continued.
"You taught us to take responsibility when things go wrong."
His words reminded me of my mother.
I smiled sadly.
"She taught me that first."
The next morning, I gathered the staff.
I explained that we had discovered serious financial irregularities.
I told them an independent review was underway.
I assured them we were strengthening controls and cooperating with investigators.
I didn't accuse anyone publicly.
I didn't disclose private family details.
I simply told the truth.
When I finished, an older foreman named Samuel raised his hand.
Samuel had worked with me for twenty-three years.
"Boss, are we going to be okay?"
I looked directly at him.
"Yes, Samuel. We're taking the necessary steps to protect the company."
He nodded.
"Then we've got your back."
Others murmured in agreement.
I felt my throat tighten.
For months, I had been working so hard to maintain a peaceful home that I had neglected the people who trusted me professionally.
Now they were reminding me what real loyalty looked like.
That evening, I returned home to find my mother sitting on the back porch.
A soft blanket covered her knees.
She was watching birds gather around the garden fountain.
I sat beside her.
"How are your hands?"
She smiled.
"Much better."
Her doctor had examined the irritation and recommended treatment and rest.
I had arranged for any chores requiring heavy lifting or prolonged standing to be handled by paid help.
Mom had complained.
Of course she had.
She said she wasn't helpless.
I told her I knew.
But she had spent enough years working for everyone else.
Now she deserved choices.
She looked at me.
"You seem tired."
I nodded.
"A little."
She reached for my hand.
"Arthur, can I tell you something?"
"Anything."
She stared toward the garden.
"When your father died, I was terrified."
I looked at her.
I had been nine years old.
My younger brother was six.
My sister was four.
Dad had died unexpectedly, leaving Mom with three children and very little money.
"I didn't know how we would survive," she continued.
"But every morning, I got out of bed and did what needed to be done."
I nodded.
"I remember."
She smiled.
"You were always watching me."
"I learned everything from you."
Her eyes filled with tears.
"Then remember this. Being betrayed doesn't mean you've failed."
I swallowed.
She squeezed my hand.
"Sometimes the strongest thing you can do is face the truth, even when it hurts."
I looked away.
Because I was suddenly afraid.
Not of losing money.
Not of public embarrassment.
Of losing the life I had built around Jasmine.
I still remembered our first date.
Her laughter.
The way she held my hand.
The evenings we danced in the kitchen.
Were those moments real?
Or had I imagined the entire relationship?
"Mom," I whispered, "I loved her."
She nodded.
"I know."
"I thought she loved me."
My voice cracked.
Mom leaned closer.
"Maybe she loved parts of your life. Maybe she loved you in a way that became selfish. I can't know what's in her heart."
I wiped my eyes.
"But her choices still matter."
I nodded.
We sat quietly until the sun disappeared.
The next afternoon, Jasmine called.
I hadn't spoken directly to her in several days.
I answered because Rebecca had advised me that necessary family communication should remain civil.
"Arthur?"
Her voice sounded different.
Tired.
Almost frightened.
"Hello, Jasmine."
"Can we talk?"
"About what?"
"Our marriage."
I remained silent.
She continued.
"I know you're angry."
"I'm disappointed."
She began crying.
"Please. I never wanted things to get this bad."
I closed my eyes.
"Then why did you make my mother pay rent?"
She sniffled.
"I was wrong."
"Why did you make her wash Maya's clothes?"
"I wasn't thinking."
"And the company expenses?"
Silence.
"Jasmine?"
She whispered, "I can explain."
I took a slow breath.
"Then explain through our attorneys."
Her voice sharpened.
"You're really going to treat me like a criminal?"
"I'm going to let the evidence determine what happened."
She began crying harder.
"I thought you loved me."
I stared at the wall.
"I did."
She became quiet.
Then I said something I had been afraid to admit.
"But loving you doesn't mean I can keep trusting you."
A long silence followed.
Finally, Jasmine whispered, "Victor promised me everything would work."
My heart stopped.
"What did Victor promise?"
She inhaled sharply.
Then the call ended.
I immediately contacted Rebecca.
May you like
Because for the first time, Jasmine had mentioned Victor without being asked.
And I had a terrible feeling she was beginning to understand that he had used her too.
