Chapter 6 - THE WOMAN BEFORE ME
Her name was Rebecca Sloan.
Not related to my attorney.
She lived in Buffalo.
Fifty-one.
Divorced.
When investigators contacted her, she initially refused.
Then she saw Lorraine’s photograph.
“Jesus.”
Rebecca had dated Andrew briefly nine years before he met me.
He told me he had only two serious relationships before us.
Rebecca was never mentioned.
They dated six months.
She had inherited a duplex and investment account after parents died.
Andrew proposed after five months.
She said no.
Not because she didn’t love him.
Because Lorraine asked too many questions about her assets.
Rebecca remembered dinner.
Lorraine casually asked whether duplex had mortgage.
Whether Rebecca had siblings.
Whether parents created trust.
Rebecca felt uncomfortable.
Then Andrew began encouraging joint accounts.
She ended relationship.
Three weeks later, someone attempted open home-equity application using her personal information.
Application failed because signature mismatch.
She suspected identity theft but never connected Andrew.
No charges resulted then.
Now investigators compared records.
Calvin Reese had submitted application.
Lorraine had emailed him Rebecca’s property address.
Andrew claimed he knew nothing.
Could be.
But investigators found old message:
Andrew:
She won’t sign anything.
Lorraine:
Then she isn’t right for you.
Andrew:
I actually like her.
Lorraine:
You need stability, not feelings.
That message altered how I saw him.
Andrew was participant.
Also product of Lorraine.
Not excuse.
Explanation.
She had trained son to treat relationships as financial architecture.
Then me.
Then Melissa.
Each time, Andrew mixed real attachment with exploitation.
When he couldn’t control contradiction, he lied.
Rebecca agreed testify against Lorraine and Calvin.
Another woman surfaced.
Danielle Price.
Andrew had gone on three dates with her before me.
She owned dental practice.
After third date, he abruptly stopped calling.
Why?
She had large student loans.
A note in Calvin’s file:
High income but negative net worth. Pass.
Pass.
Women cataloged like investments.
I felt nauseated.
Prosecutors alleged conspiracy involving identity theft, attempted financial fraud, extortion proceeds and targeting.
Not every disgusting behavior criminal.
Dating wealthy women is not crime.
Researching public assets is not necessarily crime.
But using personal information to attempt unauthorized financing is.
Calvin had done more.
He forged documents.
Created applications.
Received fees.
Lorraine supplied targets.
Andrew’s exact knowledge varied.
His plea in own attempted cottage financing included cooperation.
He gave investigators emails.
He admitted mother taught him how Calvin worked.
That increased his moral culpability even if earlier crimes not chargeable/provable.
I received copy through discovery/civil counsel.
One statement from Andrew:
I knew Calvin could create documents that looked legitimate enough to get initial approval. I believed if Claire signed one or two pages among a larger package, we could later say she understood transaction.
I sat in car after reading.
He planned to use trust itself as weapon.
Birthday dinner.
Wine.
Paperwork.
“Sign here.”
Marriage reduces vigilance.
That was mechanism.
Then I remembered hundreds times I signed delivery forms, insurance renewals, tax acknowledgments.
Had I signed something else unknowingly?
Forensic review.
We examined seven years.
Two questionable signatures.
One on credit-card authorized-user addition for Lorraine.
One on personal line application later canceled.
Both likely traced/forged.
Loss limited.
But violation enormous.
I filed identity theft reports and credit freezes.
Changed passwords.
New accountant.
New estate documents.
Removed Andrew as beneficiary where legally permitted.
Updated healthcare proxy.
Emergency contact.
The administrative anatomy of divorce is brutal.
Love disappears from forms one checkbox at a time.
Spouse: remove.
Beneficiary: change.
Authorized user: revoke.
Emergency contact: replace.
My emergency contact became my friend Rachel.
She joked:
“Please don’t get hit by another pot.”
“Working on it.”
Humor returned.
House listed.
Lorraine’s belongings packed by professional service under legal supervision.
I did not touch.
Andrew collected his.
He stood in bedroom staring at damaged headboard.
“You kept dent.”
“Police photographed it. I didn’t need preserve furniture.”
“Why didn’t you replace?”
“I’m moving.”
He touched wood.
“I’m sorry.”
“For pot?”
“For letting Mom live here after you asked her to leave.”
That was first apology for specific failure rather than vague “everything.”
“I kept telling myself I was keeping peace.”
“So did I.”
He looked at me.
“We were both afraid of her.”
I considered.
“I wasn’t afraid of Lorraine.”
“Then what?”
“Of being called cruel.”
He nodded.
“I was afraid she’d stop loving me.”
Different cages.
Then he said:
“Claire, did you ever love me?”
I almost laughed at reversal.
“Yes.”
“Even now?”
“I love who I thought you were. I care about who you are. Neither means I can remain married.”
He cried.
I didn’t comfort.
Not punishment.
Boundary.
Then he told me something I did not know.
The lake cottage plumbing leak was real.
Small pipe.
He had gone to repair.
Melissa came because he planned to show financing papers.
Thomas delivered photos by coincidence on same day Lorraine threw pot.
No mastermind timing.
That made story stranger and more believable.
Life sometimes stacks revelations without planning.
Before Andrew left, he handed me key.
Cottage.
“I won’t go back.”
“Good.”
He reached door.
Then:
“My mother always said you were lucky to have us.”
I waited.
“She was wrong.”
He left.
Two weeks later, house received offer.
Cash buyer.
Good price.
I accepted.
Lorraine heard from detention and demanded portion.
She had none.
Then Rachel called.
“Claire, sit down.”
“What now?”
“Federal investigators traced one of Lorraine’s hidden accounts.”
“To where?”
“Not where. To whom.”
A monthly transfer had gone to nursing facility in Pennsylvania for six years.
Resident:
Frank Parker.
Andrew’s father.
May you like
The man Lorraine claimed had been dead for nine years.
Except apparently, Frank Parker was alive.
