Chapter 6 - The Confession
I stood at the foot of Daniel's hospital bed, feeling absolutely no pity for him.
"Why should I help you?" I asked softly.
"You forged a mortgage in my name, put a tracker on my car, and tried to have me sent to prison."
Daniel coughed, wincing in pain as he clutched his ribs.
"She made me do it, Claire," he pleaded, tears welling in his eyes.
"Vanessa found out about the money I embezzled from my clients last year."
He confessed that his contracting business hadn't just been failing; it was a massive Ponzi scheme.
He had been using new clients' deposits to pay off old debts.
Vanessa had discovered the fraud and blackmailed him into funneling the stolen money into her offshore accounts.
"When you left on Sunday, she panicked," Daniel explained.
"She knew you would audit the finances during the divorce, so she demanded I empty the business accounts immediately."
He told me that when he finally refused to give her the ultimate access codes today, she struck him with a heavy bronze lamp.
"She is going to take all the money and leave the country," Daniel warned.
"And she is going to leave Ethan and Lily with absolutely nothing."
I looked at the pathetic man I had wasted twelve years of my life supporting.
"You did this to yourself, Daniel," I said, turning toward the door.
"Wait!" he begged, reaching out a trembling hand.
"If you let her get away, the feds will seize the house to pay off my victims, and you will lose everything too."
I stopped with my hand on the doorknob.
He was right.
If Vanessa vanished with the money, I would be left holding the bag for his forged mortgage.
I walked out of the ICU and found Marcus waiting in the hallway.
Vanessa was nowhere to be seen.
"Where is she?" I asked Marcus urgently.
"She told the kids she had to go home to grab some clothes for Daniel," Marcus replied.
"She is running," I said, breaking into a sprint toward the hospital exit.
We raced to Marcus's car and sped toward my house in the Portland suburbs.
When we pulled into the driveway, the front door was wide open.
I cautiously stepped inside, hearing the frantic sounds of drawers being thrown onto the hardwood floor upstairs.
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But as I reached the bottom of the staircase, someone stepped out from the kitchen shadows and blocked my path.
It was a tall, heavily tattooed man I had never seen before in my life, and he was holding a loaded gun.
