Chapter 8 - The Thing in the WallPolice escorted me to the house the next morning.
That detail stayed with me.
Her son was under investigation.
Her husband had left her.
Thirty-two investors might have lost millions.
And Genesis put on pearls.
Marissa saw her through the camera and said, “I’m calling the police.”
“Wait.”
Rebecca had already told Genesis to communicate only through counsel.
Coming to the house violated that boundary, though not yet a court order.
I opened the door but kept the security chain engaged.
Genesis stared at the stitches on my temple.
Her eyes flickered away.
“May I come in?”
“No.”
“Victoria, please.”
“What do you want?”
“To talk without lawyers.”
“No.”
Her jaw tightened.
“You owe me five minutes.”
I almost admired the entitlement.
“I owe you nothing.”
She lowered her voice.
“Richard is here.”
“No.”
“He left his medication.”
“Give it to me.”
She held up a paper bag.
I opened the door just enough to take it.
Then she pushed forward.
The chain caught.
Marissa stepped behind me.
“Back up.”
Genesis glared at her.
“This is private family business.”
Marissa smiled coldly.
“You people love that sentence.”
Genesis looked at me again.
“Paul is being investigated.”
“I heard.”
“His business accounts were frozen.”
“Okay.”
“You understand what that means?”
“For Paul? Yes.”
“For everyone.”
There it was.
The real reason.
“Investors could lose everything,” she said.
“They may already have.”
“Unless we stabilize things.”
I stared at her.
“With my apartment?”
Her eyes hardened.
“You’re not using it.”
I actually laughed.
“That’s still your argument?”
“You have more than enough.”
“And you decided that makes my property yours?”
“I decided family members help each other.”
“You lied to family members and took their money.”
“I invested it.”
“You promised returns.”
“I believed Paul.”
“You took commissions.”
Her face changed.
So she knew we had records.
“Who told you that?”
“Does it matter?”
“You have no idea how complicated this is.”
“Then explain it to investigators.”
Genesis gripped her handbag.
“If Paul falls, Jackson falls.”
I felt nothing.
She saw it.
That frightened her.
“You loved him.”
“I did.”
“He’s your husband.”
“Not for much longer.”
“People make mistakes.”
“He hit me with a plate.”
“He lost control.”
“He forged my signature.”
“He was desperate.”
“He stole my documents.”
“He was afraid.”
I stared at her.
“You have an excuse for everything.”
“I’m his mother.”
“That is not the defense you think it is.”
She stepped closer to the door.
“Do you want to know what happens if Jackson goes to prison?”
Marissa took out her phone.
“I think we’re done.”
Genesis ignored her.
“You’ll be responsible for destroying an entire family.”
I leaned against the doorframe.
“No, Genesis.”
My voice was steady.
“You taught your son that someone else would always absorb the consequences. His father absorbed them. Claire absorbed them. I absorbed them.”
She blinked.
“And when you ran out of people inside the family, you started recruiting friends.”
“That is not what happened.”
“You want me to save you because that’s what everyone has always done.”
She opened her mouth.
I didn’t let her speak.
“I’m done being the cushion.”
Her face went pale.
Then she said something remarkable.
“Fine.”
She reached into her purse.
Pulled out an envelope.
And slid it through the gap in the door.
“Then at least read this.”
I didn’t touch it until she left.
Rebecca arrived twenty minutes later.
Inside the envelope was a handwritten letter.
Not from Genesis.
From Jackson.
Eight pages.
He apologized for hitting me.
Sort of.
I was under pressure that you didn’t understand.
He apologized for hiding debt.
Sort of.
I was trying to protect you from stress.
He explained the apartment plan.
Sort of.
It was always supposed to be temporary.
Then came the part Genesis wanted me to see.
Jackson claimed Paul had threatened him.
According to the letter, Paul was dangerous.
The money scheme had become bigger than anyone expected.
Jackson said he had tried to get out.
Paul refused.
The restaurant purchase was supposed to give Jackson control of accounting records that could “fix everything.”
Rebecca read the letter twice.
“He’s repositioning himself as a victim.”
“Could he be telling the truth?”
“Parts could be true.”
Jackson claimed Paul maintained two sets of books.
One for investors.
One real.
He also claimed Genesis didn’t know how much money was missing.
I found that difficult to believe.
Then came one specific allegation.
A private safe-deposit box.
Bank location.
Box number.
Jackson claimed Paul kept original ledgers there.
Rebecca immediately contacted the investigator assigned to the financial case.
For once, Jackson had provided useful information.
By Friday, authorities obtained access through proper legal process.
The ledgers existed.
And they were devastating.
Paul’s operation had taken in far more money than we knew.
$7.2 million.
Genesis had personally brought in just over $2 million.
She received almost $300,000 in commissions and “marketing fees.”
Jackson received $411,000 over four years.
Almost double what our earlier records showed.
But the ledgers also revealed something else.
Jackson had not simply moved money.
He had helped create false investor statements.
My husband was not a desperate man trapped by Paul.
He was a participant.
Maybe not the architect.
But definitely not innocent.
I read the investigator’s summary at Rebecca’s office.
Then I stared through the window for a long time.
The city moved below us.
People crossed streets.
Cars honked.
Someone carried flowers into a building across the block.
Ordinary life.
Rebecca let me sit quietly.
Finally, I asked, “How did I live with him and not know?”
“You knew parts.”
I looked at her.
“You knew he was secretive about money.”
“Yes.”
“You knew he reacted badly when challenged.”
“Yes.”
“You knew his mother excused him.”
“Yes.”
“You knew you were becoming more careful around him.”
That hurt.
Because it was true.
Rebecca folded her hands.
“People think discovering betrayal means learning a completely new truth. Usually it means finally arranging old truths in the correct order.”
I looked down at my wedding ring.
I had forgotten I was still wearing it.
I slid it off.
Placed it on her desk.
“I don’t want this anymore.”
Rebecca nodded.
“Then let’s finish the divorce.”
But Jackson wasn’t ready to let me go.
That evening, I received notification from the smart security system at our marital house.
Someone had entered.
Police had advised me not to return without accompaniment.
I opened the camera feed.
Jackson walked through our bedroom.
He opened drawers.
Closets.
Then my office.
He pulled books from shelves.
Opened cabinets.
Finally he looked directly at the camera.
He knew I was watching.
Then he held up a sheet of paper.
My grandmother’s old company letterhead.
On it, written in black marker, were five words.
May you like
YOU’RE NOT THE ONLY ONE PREPARED.
Then the camera went dark.
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