Chapter 7 - THE WOMAN WEARING MY FACE
The lender gave Samuel’s firm
a still image from the recording.
The woman was blonde.
Thirty-something.
Similar build.
Similar face shape.
She wore glasses.
Her hair was pulled back.
The lighting was poor.
She was not me.
But from a small laptop screen, with a distracted notary checking documents quickly, I understood how someone might believe she was.
Then Daniel saw the photograph.
“I know her.”
I turned.
“Who?”
He enlarged the image.
“Melissa’s sister.”
Melissa arrived at Samuel’s office two hours later.
When she saw the photograph, she turned white.
“Courtney.”
“You recognize her?” Samuel asked.
“My younger sister.”
“Did she impersonate Olivia?”
“I don’t know.”
“Call her.”
Melissa did.
No answer.
Again.
Nothing.
Then a text arrived.
STOP CALLING ME.
Melissa typed.
WHAT DID YOU DO FOR RYAN?
Three dots appeared.
Then disappeared.
Then appeared again.
Finally:
HE SAID IT WAS FOR A BANK IDENTITY TEST.
Melissa stared at the screen.
“What does that mean?”
Samuel leaned forward.
“Ask her whether Ryan paid her.”
Melissa did.
The response took thirty seconds.
$5,000.
There it was.
Ryan had paid Melissa’s sister five thousand dollars to participate in a fake remote signing.
According to Courtney, Ryan told her his wife had anxiety around video calls and needed someone to demonstrate a software process.
The explanation was absurd.
But Courtney had accepted it because she needed money.
Samuel told Melissa to stop messaging and preserve the conversation.
Then my phone rang.
My supervisor.
Dr. Karen Wallace.
Her tone was uncomfortable.
“Olivia, I need to discuss something with you.”
My stomach dropped.
A complaint had been filed against me.
Anonymous.
It alleged I had been stealing prescription medication from emergency supplies.
I almost laughed.
Almost.
Then Karen explained the complaint included photographs.
One appeared to show medication vials inside my work locker.
Another showed a controlled-medication log with my initials.
I sat down.
“Karen, those aren’t mine.”
“I know your record.”
“But?”
“But we have to investigate.”
Ryan knew exactly what my career meant to me.
He also knew exactly where to hit.
“Who filed the complaint?”
“Anonymous reporting portal.”
“Timestamp?”
Karen told me.
9:14 that morning.
Thirty minutes after Melissa first contacted me.
This wasn’t random.
It was retaliation.
I explained enough of the situation for Karen to understand there was a possible domestic and financial conflict.
She immediately involved compliance and security.
Then something unexpected happened.
The photograph helped me.
Our medication lockers had been replaced six months earlier.
The anonymous photograph showed the old locker design.
The picture was not recent.
It had been taken before the renovation.
Security reviewed archived footage.
Within two hours, they found Ryan entering the employee area during a health-center holiday event eleven months earlier.
He had been permitted inside because he was my husband.
The image of the medication vials was likely staged.
The controlled log was worse for him.
The form format had been discontinued four months before the alleged theft date written on the complaint.
Whoever created the accusation had used an outdated template.
Karen called me back.
“We’re keeping you on administrative duty while compliance finishes reviewing everything.”
“Am I suspended?”
“No.”
Her voice hardened.
“And Olivia?”
“Yes?”
“I’m forwarding the material to our legal department.”
Relief nearly made me cry.
Not because I was safe.
Because Ryan had failed.
For once, one of his plans had collided with people who checked the details.
That evening, Samuel filed for emergency orders to prevent further transfers involving my property.
He also formally initiated divorce proceedings.
Ryan was served at 6:22 p.m.
At 6:47, he called me fourteen times.
I did not answer.
At 7:03, he sent an email.
YOU’RE MAKING THE BIGGEST MISTAKE OF YOUR LIFE.
At 7:11:
MELISSA IS LYING TO YOU.
At 7:26:
MY MOTHER IS CONFUSED.
At 7:40:
DANIEL REEVES ISN’T WHO HE SAYS HE IS.
That message made me pause.
I called Daniel.
“What did Ryan mean?”
“I don’t know.”
“Are you licensed?”
“Yes.”
“Did Evan Crane actually hire you?”
“Yes.”
“Anything else I should know?”
Silence.
There it was again.
A hesitation.
My trust threshold had become microscopic.
“Daniel.”
“My client wasn’t originally Evan.”
I stood.
“What?”
“He became my client later.”
“Who hired you first?”
Daniel exhaled.
“Your grandmother’s former attorney.”
I stared at the wall.
“My grandmother has been dead for eight years.”
“Yes.”
“Why would her attorney hire a private investigator?”
“He didn’t.”
“Then who did?”
May you like
Daniel’s next sentence was the first thing in days I never saw coming.
“Your grandmother did.”
