Chapter 4 - Playing the Victim Card
By eight o'clock the following morning, the storm had passed, leaving behind crisp blue Colorado skies and brilliant yellow leaves plastered to the sidewalks. I hadn't slept a wink. Instead, I had spent the night reviewing every line of the fraudulent loan documents with my attorney, David Martinez.
David was a veteran family and civil litigation lawyer in downtown Denver, a no-nonsense man who had handled dozens of high-asset divorces and white-collar fraud cases. He met me at his 17th Street office at seven-thirty, holding two cups of black coffee.
""She committed blatant wire fraud and identity theft,"" David said, sliding the loan agreement across his mahogany desk. ""Rachel used an old power of attorney document from when you were hospitalized with pneumonia three years ago, combined with a forged electronic notary stamp. The lender is a predatory private equity group out of Dallas. They don't care about marital harmony; they care about the lien on your house.""
""Can they seize the home?"" I asked, feeling the exhaustion grinding behind my eyes.
""Not if we move fast,"" David said, tapping a red pen against the legal pad. ""We file an emergency motion for a temporary restraining order in Jefferson County District Court this morning, freezing all assets associated with Apex Strategy Holdings. Then we submit a formal criminal complaint to the Lakewood Police Department for identity theft. That halts the loan enforcement dead in its tracks.""
Before I could answer, my phone began vibrating continuously on the desk. The screen flashed with incoming calls from Rachel’s mother, Evelyn, followed immediately by three frantic texts from her younger sister, Claire.
I picked up the call from Evelyn and put it on speaker.
""Ethan Cole, how dare you!"" Evelyn’s shrill voice filled the quiet office. ""My daughter called me in hysterics from a parking lot at sunrise! She said you locked her out in the freezing rain without her winter clothes and threatened to call the police on her!""
""Good morning, Evelyn,"" I said evenly.
""Don't you 'good morning' me!"" she snapped. ""Rachel went through a terrifying personal crisis this week. She had a mental breakdown from work stress, went to a retreat to clear her head, and came home to find her own husband treating her like a criminal! You packed her bags? You threw seven years in the trash because she needed five days of quiet?""
""Evelyn,"" I interrupted, my tone icy and steady. ""Did Rachel happen to tell you where that quiet retreat was?""
""She was at a wellness center in the mountains!"" Evelyn yelled. ""Taking care of her mental health! Something you clearly never supported!""
""She was at the St. Regis in Aspen with Greg Vance,"" I said. ""And while she was there, she forged my signature on a one-hundred-and-twenty-thousand-dollar commercial loan against my home to fund a private company with him.""
The line went completely dead. Even through the speaker, I could hear Evelyn's sharp intake of breath.
""That... that can't be true,"" Evelyn whispered, the venom evaporating from her tone. ""Rachel wouldn't do that. She loves that house.""
""I have the loan documents sitting in front of my attorney right now, signed with my forged name on Tuesday morning while I was filing a missing-persons report with the police,"" I continued. ""If Rachel calls you again, tell her to have her criminal defense lawyer contact David Martinez. If she approaches my house again, she will be arrested for trespassing and grand larceny.""
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I ended the call and placed the phone face down. David gave a slow, approving nod.
""Good,"" David said. ""She's playing the victim to control the narrative before the family finds out the truth. That's standard playbook for narcissists who get caught. Now, let's take the offensive. Greg Vance’s firm has an executive board meeting scheduled for ten this morning in the Tech Center. Sarah Vance called me fifteen minutes ago—she wants us to deliver our legal packet directly to the board of directors.""
