Chapter 2 - The Hidden Bank Accounts
The sun rose over Coronado Island in a haze of pale gray marine fog, casting a somber light through our kitchen windows.
At six in the morning, while Simon was still passed out in the guest bedroom after finishing his bottle of bourbon, I sat at the small kitchen desk with my secure naval laptop.
I logged into our joint banking portals, intending to check our emergency savings accounts. What I found made my stomach drop into a bottomless pit of cold panic.
Our primary family savings account, which had held eighty-four thousand dollars from my accumulated sea pay and hazardous duty bonuses, showed a current balance of four hundred and twelve dollars.
My fingers flew across the keyboard, downloading eighteen months of detailed transaction logs.
There were multiple recurring transfers—twenty-five hundred dollars each—routed into an unlisted corporate checking account labeled Apex Brand Velocity LLC.
Beside those transfers were dozens of high-end charges: five-star resort stays in Cabo San Lucas, four-thousand-dollar charges at designer boutiques in Beverly Hills, and fine dining receipts from exclusive waterfront bistros in San Diego.
Every single trip had occurred during the weeks Simon had emailed me photos of Jonah supposedly eating cereal at our kitchen table.
A sudden knock sounded at the back patio door.
I snapped the laptop shut and stood up. Outside the glass stood my neighbor, Lieutenant Commander Marcus Rivera, an instructor at the Naval Amphibious Base down the road and an old friend from our academy days.
I opened the sliding door, and Marcus stepped inside, carrying a cardboard box filled with Jonah’s baseball gear. His face was grim, his eyes shadowed with deep concern.
"Willa," Marcus said quietly, setting the box on the counter. "I saw your sea bag on the porch when I was jogging. Thank God you're back."
"Marcus, what happened while I was gone?" I asked, gripping the counter edge.
Marcus exhaled a long, heavy breath, looking down at the floor before meeting my eyes with painful honesty.
"Simon pulled Jonah out of Little League six weeks ago, Willa," Marcus confessed softly. "He told the coaches that Jonah was having behavioral issues and needed to stay home to focus on chores."
"Jonah doesn't have behavioral issues," I said, my chest aching with grief.
"We know that," Marcus replied, his voice thick with frustration. "My wife, Elena, tried to drop off dinner three times last month because we noticed Jonah outside mowing the lawn in eighty-five-degree heat by himself. Simon answered the door with that woman, Larkin, and told Elena to mind her own business."
Marcus pulled an envelope from his jacket pocket and placed it on the island.
"Elena started documenting dates and times, Willa," Marcus said. "Jonah spent almost every weekend locked in the backyard or doing chores while Simon and Larkin took off in her convertible. We were seventy-two hours away from filing an emergency report with Child Protective Services."
I stared at the envelope, tears of burning, protective rage threatening to spill over my eyelashes.
May you like
My son had been isolated, neglected, and turned into an unpaid servant in his own home while his father flaunted my deployment pay in front of his mistress.
"Thank you, Marcus," I whispered, holding the envelope tightly. "Take Jonah over to your house for breakfast right now. I have some calls to make."
