I Will Make My Fake Husband Pay Everything

"Clara, it's two in the morning. Why are you calling me from the landline?" Rachel’s voice crackled through the speakerphone.

"Because I turned my cell off," I said. I sat in the center of Marcus’s dark study. "I didn't want him tracking my location."

"He just had his spleen removed. He’s lying in an ICU bed hooked up to a morphine drip. He’s not tracking anyone."

"You don't know him, Rach."

"I know you need to sleep. You're twelve weeks pregnant."

"Sleep is impossible." I stared at the glowing screen of Marcus's backup laptop resting on the mahogany desk. "The man in that hospital bed isn't my husband."

"Did Dr. Evans say something else? Did his head injury get worse?"

"The hospital gave me his personal effects in a plastic bag. I went through his wallet while I sat in the waiting room."

"And you found what? A receipt from a jewelry store? A waitress's phone number?"

"I found a hidden compartment. Behind his thick plastic gym membership card."

"Clara, you're scaring me. What was in the compartment?"

"A second driver's license."

"A fake ID?"

"A real one. Issued in Nevada."

"With a different name?"

"Arthur Pendelton."

"Arthur Pendelton?" Rachel repeated the syllables slowly. "Who the hell is Arthur Pendelton?"

"That's what I'm trying to find out."

I dragged my fingertips across the cold metal of the laptop casing. Marcus always kept this machine locked in the bottom drawer. He claimed it held sensitive client data for his accounting firm. Tonight, I bypassed the cheap desk lock with a metal hairpin.

"Are you booting up his computer?" Rachel asked. The line hissed with faint static.

"I'm already at the login screen."

"If it's encrypted, you'll never get in."

"He's arrogant," I said. "Arrogant men don't use complicated passwords."

I typed *0814*—Marcus's birthday. The system rejected it.

"Wrong password?"

"Yeah."

"Try your birthday."

I punched in the numbers. Another red error message flashed across the monitor.

"Nothing," I said.

"Try your anniversary."

"No. He doesn't care about our anniversary." I paused, thinking about the Nevada ID card. "Let me try something else."

I typed in the birth date listed on Arthur Pendelton's license. *1122*.

The screen went black for a fraction of a second, then bloomed into a bright desktop display.

"I'm in," I whispered.

"What do you see?"

"Just a browser shortcut. He wiped the hard drive recently. There are no folders."

"Open the browser. Check the history."

I double-clicked the icon. The browser launched directly to a bookmarked page. A banking portal.

"It's the login for our joint trust account," I said.

"The house fund?"

"Yes."

"Clara, log in. Right now."

I didn't need to enter the password. The browser auto-filled the credentials. I hit enter. The portal loaded a secondary verification screen. It demanded the legal name of the primary account holder.

"It's asking for his name," I said.

"Type Marcus Stone."

I hit the keys. The system flashed red. *Invalid Primary Beneficiary*.

"It kicked it back," I told her.

"Try the other name."

My hands shook. I hovered over the keyboard and carefully spelled out *Arthur Pendelton*.

I pressed the enter key.

The page refreshed. The dashboard loaded, displaying the account summary in stark, unfeeling black text.

"Well?" Rachel demanded. "Is the money there?"

I blinked. The numbers on the screen scrambled my brain. I rubbed my eyes and looked again.

"Clara? Talk to me."

"It's gone."

"What do you mean, gone? The bank website is probably down for maintenance."

"Everything is gone, Rach." I traced my nail under the flat zero on the monitor. "The balance is zero."

"That's impossible. You guys hit eighty grand last month. You worked double shifts at the clinic for two years to build that fund."

"I know what I worked for."

"Refresh the page."

"I did. It's empty." I clicked the transaction history tab. The rows of data populated instantly. "A wire transfer cleared three days ago. Eighty-two thousand dollars."

"To who?!"

"An LLC registered in Nevada. Apex Holdings."

"He moved your house money to a shell company?"

"He didn't just move it. He owns the shell company." I scrutinized the digital footprint on the screen. "I'm looking at the backend routing details. The controlling party on the trust isn't Marcus Stone. It never was. He set it up under Arthur Pendelton."

"He stole your money."

Cold tension spread through the dark study. Cold sweat broke out across my shoulders, plastering my silk nightgown flat against my spine. The fabric clung to my skin like wet paper.

"He robbed me," I said. My voice sounded hollow.

"Call the police. Dial 911 right now."

"And tell them what?" I gripped the edge of the desk. "That my husband took his own money? His legal alias is on the account."

"Your name is on it too! Half of that cash belongs to you!"

"They won't care. It's a civil matter. By the time I get a lawyer to subpoena the Nevada LLC, the money will be overseas."

My chest heaved. The steady rhythm of my breathing shattered into jagged, uneven gasps. I clamped my teeth down on my lower lip. The pressure mounted until a sharp metallic tang flooded my tongue. Blood.

"Clara, you need to leave that house. Pack a bag and come to my place."

"I married a ghost," I said. I wiped my bleeding lip with the back of my hand. "Marcus Stone doesn't exist. He's a legal phantom."

"He's a monster."

"He watched me cry on the bathroom floor over negative pregnancy tests. He held me while I blamed my own body for failing us. All while he had titanium clips severing his vas deferens."

"He's a sociopath."

"And then he smiled in my face while he drained my life savings."

"Get out of the house, Clara. If he wakes up and realizes his wallet is empty, he might send someone to the house."

"Let him send someone."

"Don't be stupid. You are pregnant. Think about the baby."

"I am thinking about the baby." I glared at the zero balance. "I'm going to destroy him."

A soft *ping* echoed from the laptop speakers.

A notification banner slid across the top right corner of the screen.

"Hold on," I said.

"What is it?"

"An email just came through."

"Don't open it. It could be malware."

I leaned closer to the monitor. The message bypassed the standard inbox, routing directly through an encrypted client portal.

"It's not malware," I said.

"Who is the sender?"

I read the name aloud. "J. Vance Law Firm."

"A lawyer? Why is a lawyer emailing him at two in the morning?"

"I don't know."

I moved the mouse and clicked the banner. The encryption software ran a quick decryption protocol, unlocking the text. The subject line expanded in bold, black font across the center of the screen.

"Clara? Read it to me."

I focused on the words. I forced myself to stay steady.

"Regarding your husband's interstate bigamy investigation."

"Bigamy?" Rachel shrieked. "He has another wife?!"

I didn't answer. I kept my eyes locked on the screen, waiting for the rest of the message to load.