Husband Stole Mom's Fund

I stared at the phone in my hand, Angel Mills' death benefit documents spread across the kitchen table. The evidence of Hayes' betrayal burned in my eyes, but I needed help—someone who could understand the military system and help me fight back.

Titus Mills' number was listed in the paperwork as next of kin. I'd never met him, only heard Hayes mention Angel's brother in passing. My fingers trembled as I dialed.

"Titus Mills." His voice was deep, cautious.

"My name is Skyler Martin." I swallowed hard. "I'm Hayes Crawford's wife."

Silence stretched between us. Then: "What can I do for you, Mrs. Crawford?"

"Martin," I corrected automatically. "I kept my name." Something about this small act of independence felt important now. "I need to talk to you about your brother's death benefits."

Another pause. Longer this time. "Where are you?"

"Home. But I can meet you anywhere."

"There's a coffee shop on Fifth Street. The one with the blue awning."

---

The coffee shop was nearly empty when I arrived. Titus sat in the corner booth, his posture military-straight despite his civilian clothes. He looked nothing like Angel—broader shoulders, sharper jawline, eyes that seemed to catalog everything around him.

"You found something," he said as I slid into the seat across from him.

I placed the documents on the table between us. "Hayes and Daisy have been embezzling Angel's death benefits."

Titus didn't look surprised. He picked up the papers with careful precision, scanning each page. "I've had my suspicions about Daisy for a while now."

"You have?"

"She's been living beyond her means since Angel died." His fingers traced the numbers on the bank statements. "Always crying poor to the military wives' group, but driving a new car, wearing designer clothes."

"Angel's will specified the benefits should go to your parents."

Titus nodded grimly. "Dad's been wondering why the payments never came." He looked up at me. "What does Hayes say about this?"

"He says it's his duty to take care of Daisy and her parents." My voice cracked. "Meanwhile, my mother is dying because he stole her surgery money."

Titus' expression hardened. "I'm a private investigator. Let me help you gather evidence."

---

The smell of Daisy's "special lasagna" filled our house when I returned that evening. Hayes had invited her for dinner—in our home, at our table.

"Skyler!" Hayes called out with false cheerfulness. "Come meet our guest of honor."

I stepped into the dining room. Hayes stood behind Daisy, his hands possessively on her shoulders. She wore a flowing dress that emphasized her pregnant belly.

"Veronica's here too," Hayes added, gesturing toward his mother.

Veronica Crawford sat primly at the far end of the table, her eyes cold as they met mine.

"Skyler." Daisy's voice dripped with false sweetness. "Hayes proposed last night."

She held up her left hand, where Angel's engagement ring now sat—the ring his parents had saved for years to buy.

"Isn't it wonderful?" Hayes beamed. "We're finally going to be a real family."

"While my mother lies dying," I said flatly.

Veronica stirred her water glass with exaggerated delicacy. "Such a shame about your mother. Though I must say, that extra ten thousand dollars from Angel's benefits came in quite handy for my kitchen renovation."

The room went silent.

"Mother," Hayes warned.

"What?" Veronica's eyes narrowed. "You told me it was bonus money from your command."

"It was," Hayes said quickly.

"Ten thousand dollars," I repeated numbly. "From Angel's death benefits."

Daisy shifted uncomfortably. "We all needed help."

---

The basement felt like a war room now. Titus and I had been meeting here for three days, photographing documents and recording conversations.

"These financial records are damning," Titus murmured, organizing the evidence into neat folders. "But we need more."

"I've been recording every conversation," I said, pointing to my phone. "Hayes thinks I'm just being emotional, but I'm gathering proof."

Titus nodded approvingly. "Good. We need to build an airtight case before we present this to the military oversight committee."

The basement door creaked open. Hayes stood at the top of the stairs, his silhouette dark against the light.

"What are you doing down here?" His voice was dangerously calm.

I slipped my phone into my pocket. "Just organizing some papers."

"Skyler." He descended the stairs slowly, like a predator approaching wounded prey. "Let me make something very clear."

Hayes stopped directly in front of me, close enough that I could smell his cologne—the same scent that once made my heart race but now turned my stomach.

"If you continue this little investigation of yours," he said quietly, "you'll lose everything."

"Everything?" I met his gaze steadily.

"Everything." His smile didn't reach his eyes. "Including any chance your mother has at getting that surgery."

The threat hung between us like a blade.