Chapter 8 - THE CONFESSION I NEVER WROTE
The email to federal investigators changed the timeline.
We could not hide anymore.
Not that I wanted to.
Marcus contacted the appropriate federal office before they contacted me.
Voluntary counsel.
Preservation.
Identity theft evidence.
No running.
Larkin hated it.
“You’re inviting them in.”
“They were already invited by Thomas.”
“They will tear apart everything.”
“Probably.”
“You’re comfortable with that?”
“No.”
I looked at him.
“But I’m more comfortable with it than prison.”
That shut him up.
By morning, federal agents arrived at Larkin Tower with warrants.
Not because I called.
Because Thomas’s fake confession gave them probable cause tied to ongoing investigations.
They seized servers.
Accounts.
Records.
Larkin’s empire began shaking.
Employees panicked.
Executives disappeared.
Thomas remained missing.
I sat in a conference room beside Marcus and answered questions.
Yes, I processed invoices.
No, I did not negotiate them.
Yes, I had access credentials.
No, I did not create P. Woods Consulting.
Yes, I gave Thomas a temporary authentication code once.
No, I did not know how he used it.
Facts.
No drama.
Then an agent asked:
“Why did you spend five thousand dollars the night before the investigation became public?”
I almost laughed.
“The dress.”
He blinked.
“What?”
I explained.
Boutique receipt.
Hair.
Makeup.
Shoes.
The most expensive act of self-respect in my life suddenly looked suspicious.
Marcus produced receipts.
The agent nodded.
“Understood.”
I thought about Thomas planning to use that night as visual proof of criminal wealth.
My gown had nearly become evidence.
Then the agents showed me something worse.
Bank transfers from P. Woods Consulting to my real student-loan account.
Three payments.
Total:
$18,000.
I stared.
“I never made those.”
“But your loan balance decreased.”
I checked.
It had.
I never noticed because I paid automatically and avoided looking too closely at the enormous number.
Thomas had paid my debt using criminal money.
Why?
To create benefit.
Motive.
Evidence I knowingly participated.
My stomach turned.
“What else?”
The agent showed a luxury apartment lease in my name.
Chelsea.
$11,000 per month.
I had never been inside.
Utilities.
Furniture.
Wine deliveries.
All under Penelope Woods.
Someone had created a second life for me.
A criminal Penelope.
Rich.
Secretive.
Perfectly separate from the gray secretary.
Marcus whispered:
“This is systematic.”
Yes.
Thomas had spent months building a woman who did not exist.
Then the agent showed surveillance photographs.
A woman entering the Chelsea apartment.
Same height as me.
Brown hair.
Gray coat.
Face mostly hidden.
Not me.
“Who is she?” I asked.
“We hoped you knew.”
I didn’t.
Then one image caught my attention.
The woman’s left hand.
Tattoo.
Tiny crescent moon.
I knew that tattoo.
Larkin’s executive assistant.
Marissa Cole.
The woman who scheduled half his meetings.
The woman who always smiled at me.
The woman who had access to employee records before Thomas took control of HR.
I looked at Larkin.
“You have two traitors.”
His face darkened.
Then the agent corrected:
“Maybe three.”
He placed another photograph down.
Marissa entering the Chelsea apartment.
Thomas behind her.
May you like
And between them—
Larkin’s younger brother, Ethan.
