Chapter 7 - The Desperate Call
The phone kept buzzing, its rhythmic vibration sending faint ripples across the surface of my coffee mug.
I looked down at the screen, watching Nathan’s name flash repeatedly. He must have heard from his mother’s panic-stricken lawyer or received an automated alert from the frozen bank accounts. The illusion of his invincibility was completely gone now; he was just a terrified, cornered man realizing he had nothing left.
“Are you going to answer that, Mrs. Cole?” the federal agent asked, lingering near the doorway before escorting the accountant out.
“No,” I said calmly, letting the call ring out until it finally went to voicemail. “Let him panic a little longer. He has plenty of time to think about his choices.”
The agent gave a respectful nod, stepped into the private elevator with the accountant, and descended to the lobby, leaving me completely alone in the sprawling penthouse.
Silence settled over the rooms, but it was no longer a peaceful silence. It was the charged, expectant quiet before a storm. My phone buzzed again—not a call this time, but a barrage of frantic text messages from Nathan.
Nathan: Caroline, pick up the phone. What the hell is going on? The police just called me—they said my mother was arrested at the penthouse!
Nathan: Please, tell me this is a sick joke. That’s federal jurisdiction! My career is over if this hits the news!
Nathan: Where are you? Let’s talk. Just you and me. We can fix this, I swear.
I stared at the screen, a cold, bitter anger washing over me. For years, Nathan had weaponized his convenience, his mother’s approval, and his manufactured status to keep me compliant. Whenever I raised a concern about his mother’s overreach, he told me to keep the peace. Whenever she insulted my children, he told me I was being overly sensitive.
And now, the moment the bills came due, he expected me to sweep federal embezzlement under the rug to protect his precious reputation.
I tapped out a brief, merciless reply.
Caroline: Don't bother coming back here, Nathan. Your clothes are packed in the trunk of your car down in the garage. Talk to my brother’s legal team if you have any questions.
I blocked his number immediately afterward, cutting off the digital umbilical cord that had tied us together for four miserable years.
I walked over to the floor-to-ceiling windows, looking down at the bustling Boston streets far below. The sun was dipping lower now, casting long shadows across the harbor. My children would be home soon with James, laughing, safe, and completely unaware of the finality of what had just transpired.
My phone vibrated one last time against the counter, displaying a preview notification from an unknown local number.
May you like
Unknown: Mrs. Cole, this is Detective Miller, Boston PD Financial Crimes Unit. We need you down at the precinct immediately. Your husband just walked in to turn himself in—and he brought a confession that names you as a co-conspirator.
---
