Chapter 3 - Unraveling the Web of Lies
The document Officer Davis held up was a power of attorney form, along with several bank authorization sheets.
"Miss Sterling," Officer Davis said, walking back over to me. "Did you authorize a transfer of your personal savings accounts to a joint account with Ryan Mercer and Denise Mercer yesterday?"
My heart stopped. "What? No. Absolutely not. I have my own personal accounts at Chase. We agreed to keep our finances separate until we figured out a budget. I never signed any transfer forms."
"Well, according to this document, which bears your signature, you authorized the transfer of four hundred and fifty thousand dollars from your trust account to an account registered to 'Mercer Holdings LLC'—with Ryan and Denise Mercer listed as sole proprietors."
I stared at the paper in his hand. The signature at the bottom looked incredibly like mine—the elegant cursive, the slight slant of the 'C'—but I had never seen this document in my life.
"He forged it," I whispered, the realization hitting me like a physical blow. "He... he stole my identity. He forged my signature."
"You lying bitch!" Ryan roared, thrashing against Officer Miller's grip. "You signed that! You promised to help my family! You promised to fund my mother's business!"
"I didn't promise you anything!" I yelled back, the pain in my body fueled by a sudden, intense wave of rage. "You stole from me! On our wedding night, you took my ID while I was asleep, didn't you? You found my financial files!"
"Ryan..." Denise’s voice was barely a whisper. She looked like she was about to faint. "Ryan, what did you do? Is... is the money not yours?"
"Shut up, Mom!" Ryan screamed, his facade completely crumbling. "Just shut up!"
At that moment, two paramedics arrived with a gurney. Officer Davis signaled them to tend to me. "Get her leg treated. We’ll take her statement in the ambulance or at the hospital."
As the paramedics gently cut away my pajama shorts to expose the severe, blistering second-degree burns on my thigh, Officer Davis turned his attention to Denise.
"Ma'am, you are also under arrest for domestic battery and complicity in assault," he said, pulling out a second pair of handcuffs.
"What? No! I didn't do anything!" Denise screamed, backing away into the kitchen. "I’m his mother! I was just teaching her how to be a good wife! The soup slipped! It was an accident!"
"Save it for the judge," Officer Davis said, grabbing her wrists and clicking the cuffs into place.
As they dragged Ryan and Denise out of my condo, the neighbors peeked out of their doors, whispering and staring. Denise was hysterical, screaming about her rights and her son's "success," while Ryan kept his head down, refusing to look at anyone.
I lay on the gurney, a cold compress on my burning leg, staring at the ceiling of the elevator.
May you like
Three days. I had been married for exactly three days.
But as the ambulance doors closed and the sirens began to wail, I didn't feel like a victim. For the first time in two years, the fog had cleared. I knew exactly what I had to do.
