Not because my marriage was over, but because the truth was finally coming out. I met with the FBI agents at their field office in Spokane. Agent Patel and Agent Donovan.
They recorded my statement, took copies of all the documents James and I had gathered. Your case helps establish a pattern, Agent Patel explained. Shows intent, organization.
Makes it a conspiracy rather than isolated incidents. What about Becky? I asked. My wife, ex-wife.
The agents exchanged looks. We’re still determining her level of involvement, Donovan said carefully. Did she ever mention financial difficulties? Pressure to sell the house? I thought back.
She kept saying we were house poor. That we should downsize. I didn’t see the need.
Our mortgage payments were manageable on my salary. Patel made a note. When did that start? About six months ago.
Around the time she must have met Jeremy. And the refinance? Donovan asked. Never discussed it with me.
She forged my signature while I was deployed. They asked more questions. Took more notes.
When we finished, Patel handed me her card. We’ll be in touch. In the meantime, don’t confront your wife or Ryan.
We need to build this case carefully. I nodded. Understood.
That evening I drove to our neighborhood again. Parked down the street from our house. Jeremy’s truck was back.
Must have gotten it out of impound. Becky’s car was gone. My phone buzzed.
Text from Becky. We need to talk in person. Meet me at Riverfront Park tomorrow.
Call you in the morning. I showed the text to James over breakfast the next day. Don’t go, he advised.
Nothing good can come from talking to her right now. I won’t, I said. But I want to know what she’s doing today while she thinks I’m meeting her.
We drove to our house at 9.30 a.m., parked across the street. At 9.45, Becky came out, got in her car, and drove away, heading toward Riverfront Park. Now what? James asked.
Now we wait, I said. 20 minutes later, a car pulled up. Real estate agent’s logo on the door.
Daniel Spencer. Jeremy came out to greet him. They talked in the driveway, then went inside.
Should we follow them? James asked. I shook my head. No need.
I installed security cameras last year. Interior and exterior. They upload to cloud storage.
James smiled. You didn’t mention that before. Never came up, I said, pulling out my phone.
I opened the security app and angled the screen so James could see. Spencer and Jeremy were in our living room. Spencer was taking photos.
Jeremy was pointing at features of the house. I turned up the volume. Should list by the end of the week, Spencer was saying.
I’ve got a buyer interested already. Cash offer, as usual. How much? Jeremy asked.
420? We list at 470. They offer 420. Everybody’s happy.
What about the husband? Becky says he’s causing trouble. Spencer waved dismissively. Military guys are all the same.
They make noise, but they’ve got deployments, responsibilities. He’ll take a settlement to make it go away. I turned to James.
You getting this? He was already recording the feed on his phone. Every word. I forwarded the security feed access to Agent Patel with a short message.
Happening now. 30 minutes later, our house was surrounded by FBI vehicles. I watched from down the street as agents led Spencer and Jeremy out in handcuffs.
My phone rang. Agent Patel. Got them on tape discussing the fraud scheme, she said.
Plus, conspiracy, wire fraud, and attempting to sell property under false pretenses. We’re going to need a formal statement from you. Of course, I said.
And Mr. Briggs? Your wife just arrived at the scene. She’s… distressed. I looked down the street.
Becky was standing on our lawn, hands over her mouth, watching as FBI agents carried boxes of documents from our house. What happens to her? I asked. That depends, Patel said.
On what she knew. And on what you want. I watched Becky for a long moment.
13 years of marriage. Good years, at the beginning. Before whatever this had become.
I just want what’s right, I said finally. The federal case moved quickly. Jeremy and Spencer both took plea deals, implicating each other and several other conspirators in what turned out to be a three state operation targeting military families.
Becky maintained she knew nothing about the larger scheme. Said Jeremy had convinced her I was hiding money, planning to leave her with nothing. Said the refinance was his idea.
She’d just gone along with it. Maybe that was true. Maybe it wasn’t.
Either way, she agreed to a settlement. Full restitution of the stolen funds. Forfeiture of any claim to the house or my military pension.
A signed confession about the forgery. In exchange, I didn’t press charges. The divorce was finalized six months after that email from Kandahar.
No fault. Clean break. All things considered.
On the day the last paperwork was signed, I got a call from Agent Patel. Jeremy Ryan was sentenced today. Eight years for fraud, conspiracy, and identity theft.