Chapter 4 - Lorraine’s Business
The next morning, my dining table looked like the war room of a very organized criminal investigation.
Diane sat across from me with her laptop open.
Beside her was Marcus Bell, a forensic accountant with silver glasses, gentle manners, and the unsettling ability to make financial crimes sound like grocery lists.
“We’ve traced eighty-seven thousand four hundred dollars in questionable transfers,” Marcus said.
I stared at him.
“Yesterday it was seventy-five.”
“That was only the home-equity line.”
He rotated the screen.
“Garrett also made payments from your joint account to Suncrest Family Holdings. Some of the forty-eight thousand you previously identified went there as well.”
“How much?”
“Twenty-six thousand.”
“So more than a hundred thousand?”
“If we combine everything, yes.”
I rubbed my temples.
“My husband makes ninety-two thousand a year.”
“I know.”
“I made around two hundred and thirty last year.”
“Yes.”
“So most of this came indirectly from me.”
“Financially speaking, your contributions supported the liquidity.”
“What does that mean in English?”
Marcus smiled sympathetically.
“You were financing his family without knowing it.”
I stared out the window.
Phoenix glittered beneath a cloudless sky.
I had spent years telling myself that being generous was easier than fighting.
Lorraine needed dental implants? Fine.
Tabitha’s son needed braces? Fine.
Garrett wanted to cover his mother’s property taxes? Fine.
But generosity without boundaries had taught them something terrible.
That my no didn’t matter.
Diane tapped the table.
“There’s more.”
I laughed bitterly.
“Everyone keeps saying that.”
“Suncrest Family Holdings owns three properties.”
I looked up.
“Three?”
“The Scottsdale house. A condo in Tempe. And a small rental property in Mesa.”
I stared.
“Lorraine always tells us she has no money.”
“Apparently she has assets.”
“With my money?”
“We’re still tracing sources.”
“Who lives in the Tempe condo?”
Marcus checked his notes.
“A tenant named Eric Dalton.”
The blond man I saw kissing Tabitha.
I leaned back.
“Of course.”
“The Mesa property was purchased eighteen months ago.”
“Who lives there?”
“Lorraine.”
I blinked.
“Lorraine owns the house she lives in?”
“Suncrest does.”
“She told Garrett she was renting.”
Marcus nodded.
“Based on county records, the property was purchased for cash.”
“How much?”
“Three hundred and twelve thousand.”
I almost stopped breathing.
“Where did she get three hundred thousand dollars?”
“We don’t know yet.”
That afternoon, the answer began arriving.
Not from Garrett.
From his father.
I had met Frank Caldwell only twice.
Garrett’s parents had divorced when Garrett was sixteen, and Lorraine spent the next twenty years describing Frank as irresponsible, selfish, alcoholic, unfaithful, and occasionally “dangerous.”
Garrett wanted nothing to do with him.
Neither did Tabitha.
My phone rang at 3:40.
Unknown number.
“Rachel?”
“Yes?”
“This is Frank Caldwell.”
I sat straighter.
“Garrett’s father?”
“Yes.”
“How did you get my number?”
“Your divorce filing is public.”
That felt invasive enough to make me tense.
He must have heard it.
“I’m sorry. I know this is strange. I’m not calling to interfere in your marriage.”
“Then why are you calling?”
“Because Lorraine called me.”
That surprised me.
“What did she want?”
“Money.”
Of course.
“For what?”
“To help Garrett fight you.”
I laughed once.
Frank didn’t.
“She told me you were trying to steal his assets.”
“I’m trying to stop them from stealing mine.”
“I figured.”
“Why?”
A long silence.
“Because she did the same thing to me.”
I stood slowly.
“What?”
“Twenty years ago.”
Frank explained that during their marriage, Lorraine handled family finances. He worked construction and later built a successful contracting business.
When the marriage ended, he discovered lines of credit, hidden transfers, and two accounts opened using his information.
“She said she was protecting the children.”
“What happened?”
“I settled.”
“Why?”
“I was drinking then. Too much. Lorraine knew I was terrified of going to court and having every bad decision turned into proof I was an unfit father.”
“Were you?”
“I was a bad husband by then. Maybe a bad father too. But I wasn’t stealing from her.”
“Why don’t Garrett and Tabitha speak to you?”
“Because Lorraine told them I emptied their college funds and abandoned them.”
“Did you?”
“No.”
My heart began pounding.
“Can you prove that?”
“Yes.”
I sat.
“What do you have?”
“Bank records. Divorce documents. Letters. Enough.”
“Why didn’t you show them?”
“I tried. Lorraine told the kids everything I sent was fabricated.”
“Garrett was sixteen.”
“I know.”
“And you just gave up?”
His silence held twenty years of regret.
“Yes.”
I understood that more than I wanted to.
People imagine giving up requires a dramatic decision.
Sometimes it just means not making the next phone call.
“Why contact me now?”
“Because Lorraine said something that scared me.”
“What?”
“She said, ‘Rachel won’t have the resources to fight after we’re done.’”
I went cold.
“What does that mean?”
“I don’t know.”
“Exact words?”
“Yes.”
I called Diane immediately after hanging up.
She listened quietly.
“That sounds like a threat to assets.”
“Can they freeze my accounts?”
“Not easily.”
“Can they interfere with clients?”
“Possibly.”
My phone buzzed.
An email notification.
Subject: CONTRACT STATUS UPDATE
One of my largest clients.
I opened it.
My stomach dropped.
They were suspending our upcoming campaign pending review of “serious allegations regarding financial misconduct and misuse of client assets.”
I stared.
“What?”
Diane leaned forward.
I handed her the phone.
She read.
“Did you misuse anything?”
“No!”
“I know. Who would have access to information that could make allegations sound credible?”
“Garrett knows who my clients are.”
“Could he access files?”
“He used to know my office password.”
“Used to?”
“I changed it months ago.”
“Cloud backups?”
My blood went cold.
Garrett’s old tablet.
I had given it to him after upgrading mine.
It had once been connected to my business cloud.
I called my IT contractor.
Ten minutes later, he confirmed someone had attempted multiple logins from the tablet during the previous night.
Then another client emailed.
Then another.
Same allegations.
Someone was trying to destroy my company.
And only one family had a reason.
I called Garrett.
He answered immediately.
“Rachel—”
“What did you do?”
“What?”
“My clients.”
Silence.
My grip tightened.
“Garrett.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“You’re lying.”
“Rachel, I swear.”
“Then who?”
He inhaled sharply.
“I told Mom where you keep your client list.”
My entire body went cold.
“Why?”
“She said she wanted to know how much money you were hiding.”
I closed my eyes.
“And you told her?”
“Yes.”
“You gave your mother access to information about my business?”
“I didn’t think she would contact anyone.”
I whispered, “You never think she’ll do the thing she always does.”
Then Garrett said the sentence that changed everything.
“Rachel, there’s something wrong with Mom.”
I laughed bitterly.
“You’re four years late.”
“No.”
His voice shook.
“I mean something is really wrong. I went to her house today.”
“And?”
“She has files on you.”
I stopped breathing.
“What kind of files?”
“Bank statements. Client names. Copies of your tax returns.”
My knees weakened.
“How?”
“I don’t know.”
May you like
Then Garrett whispered:
“And she has a copy of your will.”
