Nathan, we need to talk. The bank called about the house. What are you doing? If this is about the divorce, we can discuss it like adults.
Like adults. The same words from her email. I still didn’t respond.
James called that afternoon. They froze the refinance money, and there’s more. Your wife’s boyfriend has been driving your truck, right? The one in your name? Yeah.
He got pulled over this morning, driving on a suspended license from those DUIs. They impounded the vehicle. Good, I said.
He also had some interesting things in the truck. Prescription pads from the dental office where Becky works. They weren’t blank.
I closed my eyes. She’s been stealing prescription pads? Looks that way. The police are investigating.
I hung up and sat on the edge of the motel bed. This was getting bigger than I’d expected. Part of me wanted to call Becky, warn her.
Old habits. But then I remembered the security camera footage. My house.
My dog. My life. Given away like it meant nothing.
Number this was the path now. I couldn’t turn back. And honestly, I didn’t want to.
I met with the bank fraud investigator the next morning. Name was Thompson. Short guy with tired eyes and a coffee stain on his tie.
This happens more often than you’d think, he said, spreading documents across his desk. Spouse deploys. Other spouse sees an opportunity.
What happens now? I asked. We’ve frozen the funds from the fraudulent refinance, but there’s a problem. Some of the money’s already gone.
How much? About half. $14,600. I leaned forward.
Where did it go? Thompson hesitated. I’m not supposed to share that information. It’s my house.
My name forged. My money stolen. He nodded slowly, then turned his computer screen toward me.
These are the transfers out of the refinance account. I scanned the list. Multiple transfers to someone named Daniel Spencer.
Not Jeremy. Someone else I’d never heard of. Who’s Daniel Spencer, I asked.
Thompson shrugged. Not my department, but you should ask your lawyer to subpoena these records. I called James as soon as I left the bank.
Daniel Spencer, he repeated. Let me run a check. An hour later, he called back.
Got it. Daniel Spencer is a real estate agent. Specializes in quick sales, cash deals.
She was planning to sell our house, I said. The realization hit me like a physical blow. Looks that way.
The deposits were probably earnest money to get him moving on a listing. But here’s where it gets interesting. Spencer has done business with Jeremy Ryan before.
Jeremy Ryan is that… your wife’s boyfriend, yes. They’ve closed three deals together in the past two years. I sat down on a park bench trying to process this.
So this wasn’t just Becky leaving me for some guy. This was… what? A planned operation? Maybe, James said carefully. I did some digging into Jeremy Ryan.
He has a pattern. Gets involved with women going through divorce or with deployed spouses. Three cases I’ve found so far.
Each time, the woman’s home gets sold well below market value to one of Spencer’s clients. Ryan gets a cut. Then he moves on.
And Becky? She knew about this? Hard to say. Maybe she’s a victim too, or maybe she’s in on it. I rubbed my face.
This wasn’t just about Becky betraying me anymore. This was something bigger. Something calculated.
And other military families had been victims. What do we do? I asked. I’ve already contacted the FBI’s Financial Crimes Division, James said.
This crosses state lines, involves military personnel and VA loans. They’re interested. That night, I sat in my motel room with a beer, thinking about everything.
Wondering if Becky had been playing me our entire marriage, or if she’d gotten swept up in Jeremy’s scheme. Wondering if it even mattered. My phone buzzed.
Becky again. Nathan, please call me. The bank is saying something about fraud.
And Jeremy got arrested for driving your truck. I don’t understand what’s happening. I stared at the message for a long time.
Then I typed, Who is Daniel Spencer? Three dots appeared as she started typing, then stopped, started again, stopped, finally. I don’t know what you’re talking about. 14,600, I wrote.
Multiple transfers. House listing? No response for 10 minutes. Then, it’s not what you think.
I turned off my phone and went to bed. The next morning, James called. FBI wants to meet.
They’ve been investigating Ryan and Spencer for months. You’re not the first, but you might be the case that breaks it open. For the first time since getting that divorce email, I felt something close to satisfaction.