Chapter 3 - THE DEATH CERTIFICATE
By midnight, my anniversary had become a criminal investigation.
Kensington Hall closed the private floor.
Two attorneys arrived.
Then a former federal investigator named Marcus Hale joined us.
Ethan paced beside the fireplace.
“This is ridiculous.”
Marcus did not look impressed.
“A fraudulent death certificate is generally considered more serious than ridiculous.”
“I didn’t create it.”
“Then who did?”
Ethan looked at Khloe.
Khloe looked at the floor.
There it was again.
That silent exchange.
I leaned forward.
“Khloe, did you file this?”
“No.”
“Did you know about it?”
Her lips trembled.
“No.”
She was lying.
I had spent eleven days studying her messages to Ethan.
Khloe used pet names.
Sent photographs.
Discussed hotels.
But one message had bothered me more than all the others.
IT’LL BE LEGAL SOON.
At the time I assumed she meant divorce.
Now I wasn’t sure.
Marcus placed the certificate on the table.
“The registration number is genuine.”
Arthur frowned.
“So someone entered it into the state system?”
“Yes.”
“How?”
“That is what I intend to determine.”
Ethan finally looked at me.
“I swear I didn’t know.”
I wanted to believe him.
That was the humiliating part.
Even after tonight, some reflex inside me still searched his face for the man I married.
I remembered Ethan at twenty-eight, eating noodles from a paper carton because we couldn’t afford the restaurant we wanted.
I remembered him rubbing my shoulders while I studied.
I remembered him crying quietly at my father’s funeral.
Was all of that fake?
Or had success simply revealed parts of him poverty once kept hidden?
“Why did you bring Khloe?” I asked.
He said nothing.
“Answer me.”
His face hardened.
“I was going to tell you.”
“Tell me what?”
“That our marriage isn’t working.”
Khloe looked almost triumphant.
I felt surprisingly calm.
“And?”
“And I’ve developed feelings for someone else.”
Developed.
Such an elegant word for betrayal.
“How long?”
“Four months.”
Khloe looked at him.
That reaction was tiny.
But I saw it.
Four months was not the answer she expected.
I turned toward her.
“How long would you say?”
She glared.
Ethan snapped, “Leave her out of this.”
“I would love to. Unfortunately, you brought her into my anniversary.”
He rubbed his face.
“I made mistakes.”
“No. You made choices.”
The room went silent.
Then Marcus’s phone rang.
He stepped into the hall.
Khloe moved toward Ethan.
He subtly stepped away.
Interesting.
Ten minutes ago she had been displayed on his arm.
Now that the lies were becoming criminal, distance suddenly appealed to him.
Marcus returned.
“We traced the death certificate.”
My heartbeat accelerated.
“Who filed it?”
“It was requested using an account belonging to Cole Dynamics’ corporate legal office.”
Ethan froze.
“I have six attorneys.”
“Which one handles your personal filings?”
He answered slowly.
“David Lorne.”
I knew David.
He had attended our wedding.
Marcus continued.
“We called him.”
“And?”
“He says he prepared the document under direct instruction.”
“From whom?”
Marcus looked at Ethan.
“From you.”
Ethan’s face drained.
“That’s a lie.”
“There are emails.”
“I never sent them.”
Marcus placed printed pages on the table.
From Ethan’s corporate account.
To David Lorne.
Subject: SPOUSAL STATUS CORRECTION.
Attached was a scanned copy of my passport.
My Social Security information.
Our marriage certificate.
Enough information to make the fraud convincing.
Only two people in Ethan’s life had access to all of those records.
Ethan.
And me.
Or so I thought.
Khloe abruptly stood.
“I’m leaving.”
Marcus blocked the door.
“No.”
“You can’t keep me here.”
“Technically, I can’t.”
He smiled without warmth.
“But the detectives downstairs can.”
Khloe’s face turned white.
Ethan stared at her.
“What did you do?”
She snapped, “Don’t you dare.”
Something changed in the room.
Not fear.
Recognition.
Ethan knew that tone.
He had heard it before.
I stood.
“What aren’t you telling me?”
Ethan looked at me.
Then at Khloe.
Finally he whispered, “Sophia… Khloe had access to our apartment.”
I stopped breathing.
“What?”
“She had a key.”
“For how long?”
His answer was barely audible.
“Almost a year.”
A year.
My documents.
My passwords.
My bedroom.
My life.
But Marcus was staring at Khloe with a different expression.
“You should tell them the rest.”
Khloe said nothing.
Marcus placed another photograph on the table.
It showed Khloe leaving my apartment building seven months earlier.
She wasn’t alone.
Beside her stood David Lorne.
May you like
Ethan’s attorney.
And in David’s hand was my father’s sealed estate file.
