Chapter 17: The Person Behind the Numbers

The next morning, my lawyer called before I had even finished breakfast.

“We found something.”

I sat down at the kitchen table.

“What is it?”

“A former employee from Grant's company agreed to speak with us.”

My fingers tightened around the coffee mug.

“Did he say what Grant was hiding?”

“Not exactly. But he gave us a name.”

She paused.

“Evan Cole.”

I stared at the wall.

Evan.

The same man whose messages had appeared in Grant's archived account.

The same man Grant had described as unstable and dangerous.

“What did Evan do?” I asked.

“He was Grant's financial analyst.”

My stomach dropped.

Of course he was.

“Apparently, Evan discovered that several company expenses were being routed through a private consulting account.”

“Grant's account?”

“Not directly.”

She lowered her voice.

“The account belonged to someone else.”

“Who?”

“Tessa.”

For a moment, I couldn't breathe.

Tessa hadn't simply been Grant's secret partner.

She had been connected to the financial scheme too.

“Are you sure?”

“We're verifying everything before making any accusations. But the records are compelling.”

I closed my eyes.

All those months.

All those conversations about Boston.

All those excuses about career opportunities.

They hadn't been building a new life.

They had been building an escape route.

My lawyer continued.

“There's another problem.”

I opened my eyes.

“What?”

“Your name appears in several financial documents.”

The room seemed to tilt.

“My name?”

“Yes. Grant listed you as a beneficiary on some accounts and as an authorized household contact on others.”

“I never signed anything.”

“That's what we're trying to determine.”

I stood and walked to the window.

Outside, people were walking to work, carrying coffee and talking on phones.

Normal life.

A life I had almost lost because someone else had decided mine was easier to control.

“What should I do?”

“Don't contact Grant. Don't contact Tessa. And don't delete anything.”

“I won't.”

After the call ended, I opened the old laptop I had brought from Chicago.

There were still folders I hadn't looked through.

Receipts.

Tax documents.

Old emails.

I searched Grant's name.

Nothing unusual appeared at first.

Then I searched for Tessa.

One email appeared.

It was from eighteen months earlier.

Subject: Boston relocation package.

I opened it.

The message was short.

Grant had forwarded Tessa a list of documents she needed to provide for a relocation application.

At the bottom was a sentence that made my hands go cold.

“Claire's information will cover the remaining requirements.”

I stared at the screen.

They had planned to use me long before I knew there was a plan.

Then I noticed the attachment.

A PDF.

I opened it.

It was a financial statement.

My name was at the top.

My income.

My savings.

My credit information.

But the document had been altered.

Several figures were higher than my actual balances.

Someone had used my information to make me look wealthier than I was.

I immediately sent the file to my lawyer.

Her response came less than a minute later.

“Do not open any more files from that account. We're going to preserve everything.”

I closed the laptop.

For the first time, fear replaced anger.

If they had forged my financial information, what else had they done in my name?

That afternoon, I received another call.

This time, it was Evan.

I almost didn't answer.

But curiosity won.

“Hello?”

There was silence on the other end.

Then a tired male voice said, “Claire?”

“Yes.”

“I'm sorry.”

I frowned.

“For what?”

“For not warning you sooner.”

I leaned back in my chair.

“You knew?”

“I knew Grant was using your information.”

My heart pounded.

“How long?”

“Almost a year.”

I closed my eyes.

A year.

A full year of planning behind my back.

“Why didn't you tell me?”

Evan exhaled.

“Because Grant threatened me.”

I opened my eyes.

“He told me if I talked, he'd make sure I could never work in finance again.”

“And now?”

“Now I don't have much left to lose.”

I stayed silent.

“There's something else you need to know,” Evan said.

“What?”

“The Boston apartment wasn't the only thing Grant arranged.”

My chest tightened.

“What else?”

“He had already prepared a power-of-attorney document.”

I froze.

“In your name?”

“No.”

His voice dropped.

“For you.”

I gripped the edge of the table.

“What was it for?”

“Your finances.”

The room went completely silent.

Grant hadn't just planned where I would live.

He had planned how much control he would have over my money.

Evan continued.

“Claire, if you had gone to Iowa, he would have had everything he needed.”

I swallowed hard.

“Everything?”

“Your signature. Your financial records. Your address. Your credit history.”

He paused.

“And a legal reason to explain why you weren't in Chicago anymore.”

I looked at the laptop sitting across the room.

Suddenly, the spreadsheet made sense.

It wasn't a plan for my future.

It was a blueprint for my disappearance.

“Evan,” I said quietly.

“Yes?”

“Who helped him?”

Silence.

Then he answered.

“Someone you trust.”