Chapter 6 - THE SECOND APARTMENT
I put Marcy on speaker.
Detective Bell stood a few feet away.
Jessica sat beside me.
“What things?” I asked.
Marcy hesitated.
“Files. Cash. Computers.”
My stomach tightened.
“How do you know?”
“Because I helped her move some of it.”
Jessica closed her eyes.
Marcy rushed to explain.
“I didn’t know what she was doing. Not at first.”
Detective Bell stepped closer.
“Ms. Collins, this is Detective Aaron Bell with Phoenix Police. I’d like you to stop discussing details over the phone and arrange to speak with us in person.”
Marcy immediately went quiet.
“Am I in trouble?”
“I’m not making any statement about that. But if you have information related to possible financial crimes, we need to document it properly.”
Marcy agreed to come in the next morning.
After the call ended, Bell looked at us.
“This may be larger than a family dispute.”
“That became clear when I saw forty-six thousand dollars missing.”
He nodded.
“But if she maintained a separate location and used third parties’ identities, there may be more victims.”
Jessica looked exhausted.
“How does someone do all this while living with us?”
I knew the answer.
Because we made it easy.
I traveled.
Jessica trusted me.
I trusted Carmen.
Carmen exploited the gaps between us.
The next morning, I called my employer.
I had already missed one day.
My director, Sam, told me to take the week.
I didn’t explain everything.
Just that there was a family emergency.
Then I made breakfast.
That sounds unimportant.
But when Olivia came into the kitchen and saw pancakes, she stopped.
“Can I eat now?”
I froze.
Jessica turned away sharply.
I knelt.
“Sweetheart, you never have to earn food in this house.”
Olivia looked uncertain.
“What if I don’t clean?”
“You still eat.”
“What if I’m bad?”
“You still eat.”
“What if Mommy is bad?”
“Mommy still eats.”
She studied me like this was a rule she had never heard before.
Then she asked, “What if Grandma says no?”
I swallowed.
“Grandma doesn’t make the rules here anymore.”
Olivia smiled.
A tiny smile.
But it destroyed me.
At ten, Detective Bell called.
Marcy had arrived at the station with documents.
He asked whether Jessica and I would be willing to come in separately for statements.
We arranged for Jessica’s sister, Hannah, to stay with Olivia.
Hannah lived only twenty minutes away.
When she arrived and saw the bandages on Olivia’s hands, her face changed.
“What happened?”
Jessica started crying before she could answer.
Hannah held her.
Then she looked at me.
Not with anger.
With disappointment.
I deserved it.
“You didn’t know?”
“No.”
“You didn’t see?”
“No.”
She shook her head.
“Then you weren’t looking.”
It hurt because it was true.
At the station, Jessica and I were interviewed separately.
I gave every detail I could remember.
My mother moving in.
Her access to old financial information.
The transfers.
The party.
Olivia’s injuries.
Jessica’s documents.
Then Detective Bell asked about my mother’s finances.
“How much did you provide monthly?”
“About fifteen hundred.”
“For living expenses?”
“Yes.”
“Did she pay rent?”
“No.”
“Utilities?”
“No.”
“Groceries?”
Sometimes.
“How did she afford designer items?”
I stared at him.
“I assumed she saved.”
“From what?”
I had no answer.
When the interview ended, Bell brought me into a conference room.
Jessica was already there.
So was a woman I hadn’t met.
“This is Detective Sandra Cho with the financial crimes unit.”
That was when I knew this had escalated.
Cho opened a folder.
“Marcy Collins provided information suggesting your mother operated multiple informal lending pools and used several identities to open accounts.”
Jessica whispered, “Several?”
“At least four that we know of.”
“Mine?”
“Yes.”
Cho looked at me.
“And yours.”
I felt cold.
She slid a page across the table.
It showed a business registration.
Ferris Project Solutions LLC.
My name was listed as organizer.
My home address.
My phone number.
My signature.
Except I had never signed it.
“That’s fake.”
“We believe so.”
I stared at the document.
The company had been registered ten months earlier.
“What did she use it for?”
“Bank accounts. Merchant processing. Possibly loans.”
“How much?”
“We don’t have the full number yet.”
Jessica squeezed my hand.
I didn’t deserve the comfort.
But I took it.
Cho continued.
“Marcy also provided an address for the second apartment.”
My heart accelerated.
“Where?”
“About twelve miles from your residence.”
“Can we go there?”
“No.”
The answer was immediate.
“We’re handling that.”
I nodded.
Of course.
This wasn’t a television show.
I didn’t get to kick down doors because I was angry.
Cho asked another question.
“Did your mother ever have physical access to your work laptop?”
I thought.
“Yes.”
Jessica looked at me.
“When?”
“It was sometimes in my office.”
“Was it password protected?”
“Yes.”
“Did she know that password?”
“No.”
Cho asked, “Was the password reused anywhere?”
I hesitated.
That was answer enough.
She sighed.
“Change everything.”
“I already have.”
“Work accounts too.”
My stomach tightened.
I called our IT security team immediately.
Three hours later, they confirmed no obvious unauthorized access but temporarily suspended several credentials for review.
By afternoon, my entire life had become passwords, case numbers, forms, fraud alerts, and phone calls.
Then Detective Bell returned.
His expression told me something had happened.
“We served a warrant at the second apartment.”
Jessica grabbed my hand again.
“What did you find?”
Bell sat.
“Computers. Multiple phones. Bank cards. copies of identification. Financial ledgers.”
“Cash?”
“Yes.”
“How much?”
“I can’t give an exact total yet.”
“Was it ours?”
“We don’t know.”
He paused.
“There was also a file labeled with your wife’s name.”
Jessica went rigid.
“What was in it?”
Bell looked uncomfortable.
“Photographs.”
Her face drained.
“What kind?”
“Mostly surveillance-style documentation. You entering stores. Picking Olivia up from school. Sitting at a café. At your sister’s home.”
Jessica stared at him.
“She followed me?”
“Someone did.”
I felt physically ill.
Bell continued.
“There were notes.”
“What notes?”
He looked at Jessica.
“Times. Locations. Descriptions of your routine.”
“Why?”
“We’re trying to determine that.”
I knew.
Custody.
My mother had said it herself.
If Jessica ever tried to leave.
“She was preparing to take Olivia.”
Jessica whispered the words.
Nobody disagreed.
Bell continued.
“There was also a folder relating to family court.”
My jaw tightened.
“Family court?”
“Printed articles, attorney information, grandparents’ rights statutes, custody cases.”
Jessica’s eyes filled.
“She was serious.”
“Yes.”
Bell turned another page.
“And there was something else.”
“What?”
“A draft petition.”
My heart pounded.
“What petition?”
“It appears your mother was preparing allegations that Jessica was emotionally unstable and neglectful.”
Jessica covered her face.
I stared at the table.
My mother had been building a false custody case inside my house while I traveled for work.
“How could she file anything?”
“She hadn’t. It was a draft.”
“But she needed me.”
Bell looked at me.
“Possibly.”
I understood.
She needed her son to agree.
Or appear to agree.
The fake business.
The forged signatures.
The financial documents.
“What else did she forge?”
Bell didn’t answer immediately.
Then he slid a photocopy toward me.
It was a typed statement.
I read the first line.
I, Zayden Ferris, have serious concerns about my wife Jessica Ferris’s ability to safely care for our daughter, Olivia.
My vision blurred.
At the bottom was my name.
And a signature that looked almost exactly like mine.
Jessica made a broken sound.
“No.”
I couldn’t breathe.
My mother had written a declaration in my name accusing my wife of being an unfit mother.
I looked at Bell.
“When was this created?”
“Metadata suggests approximately six weeks ago.”
Six weeks.
I searched my memory.
Where had I been?
Chicago.
Four days.
Then Boston.
Three days.
My mother had likely sat in my apartment while my wife cooked dinner and my daughter played nearby, forging a statement that could destroy both of them.
Jessica stood.
“I need air.”
I followed her into the hallway.
She leaned against the wall.
“I knew she hated me.”
“She doesn’t—”
I stopped.
I had been about to defend my mother automatically.
Even now.
Jessica noticed.
Her face changed.
“Say it.”
“No.”
“Say what you were going to say.”
“I was going to say she doesn’t hate you.”
“Doesn’t she?”
I looked back through the glass at the file on the table.
“She wanted you gone.”
Jessica laughed bitterly.
“Thank you.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Stop apologizing every thirty seconds.”
“What do you want me to do?”
She looked at me.
“Understand.”
“I’m trying.”
“No. Understand that I spent a year living with someone who was trying to erase me from my own family.”
I couldn’t answer.
Jessica wiped her eyes.
“And while she did it, you kept asking me to be nicer to her.”
That sentence stayed between us.
Then my phone rang.
Hannah.
I answered immediately.
“Is Olivia okay?”
There was silence.
Then Hannah said, “Zayden, she’s fine.”
My chest loosened.
“But something happened.”
“What?”
“She asked me to open her school backpack.”
“Why?”
“She said Grandma told her never to let Mommy see the secret pocket.”
Jessica heard.
Her eyes widened.
“What’s inside?”
Hannah’s voice lowered.
“A phone.”
I froze.
“What kind of phone?”
“Cheap prepaid phone.”
“Is it on?”
“Yes.”
“What’s on it?”
“I didn’t open anything. But there are seventeen missed calls.”
“From who?”
May you like
Hannah swallowed.
“The contact name says Grandma.”
