Part 5: The One Visitor Gwen Never Expected
Part 5: The One Visitor Gwen Never Expected
Chemotherapy changes more than a body.
It changes time.
Some days passed in minutes.
Others refused to move at all.
By the third treatment, Gwen had started recognizing the rhythm of the oncology ward.
The morning blood work.
The smell of antiseptic.
The warm blankets the nurses always offered before the IV began.
The quiet conversations between strangers who understood fear without needing introductions.
I learned every hallway.
Every vending machine.
Every nurse's first name.
My fabrication business had officially opened by then, but Wyatt handled most of the daily work whenever I stayed at the hospital.
"Go," he always told me.
"The shop can wait. She can't."
One rainy Tuesday afternoon, Gwen was asleep after treatment when my phone vibrated.
Unknown number.
I almost ignored it.
Instead, I answered.
"Mr. Carter?"
"Yes."
"This is Detective Linda Morales."
Immediately, my stomach tightened.
"Is everything okay?"
"We've completed the financial review connected to your previous complaint."
I stepped into the empty family waiting room.
Large windows overlooked the parking lot where rain streaked across rows of cars.
"The forensic accountant located additional transfers."
"What kind of transfers?"
"Money that originated from your Canadian wages but never appeared in the investment accounts."
I frowned.
"I already knew about the seventy thousand."
"There was more."
Much more.
"Approximately two hundred and eighteen thousand dollars moved through accounts we hadn't previously identified."
For several seconds, I said nothing.
"That's impossible."
"I'm afraid it isn't."
She paused.
"We believe your mother wasn't acting alone."
A chill ran through me.
"What do you mean?"
"The transfers continued through multiple business accounts."
"Some were routed through construction suppliers."
"Others through shell consulting companies."
"And several payments ended in accounts connected to someone named Richard Lawson."
The name meant nothing to me.
"Who is Richard Lawson?"
"Your mother's financial adviser."
"I've never heard of him."
"According to our investigation," Detective Morales replied carefully, "he helped manage several investment strategies using your overseas income."
I leaned against the wall.
"So the money wasn't just spent?"
"No."
"It appears someone intended to grow it."
"For themselves."
That evening, after Gwen finished dinner, I decided not to tell her everything.
Not yet.
She already had enough to fight.
Instead, I simply sat beside her hospital bed.
She watched me quietly.
"You have that face again."
"What face?"
"The one you make when you're carrying something alone."
I smiled weakly.
"I've been caught."
She reached for my hand.
"You don't have to protect me from every storm."
"I know."
"But this one can wait until you're stronger."
She squeezed my fingers.
"You always waited for me."
"I can wait for the truth."
Three days later, Detective Morales invited me to the county office.
Boxes covered an entire conference table.
Bank statements.
Wire transfers.
Corporate filings.
Property records.
One investigator slid a thick binder toward me.
"Everything highlighted in yellow originated from your income."
Page after page.
Month after month.
Every payday from Yellowknife.
I recognized every transfer because I remembered earning every dollar.
Frozen fingers.
Overtime weekends.
Christmases spent alone.
Birthdays missed.
Anniversaries celebrated through video calls.
Each sacrifice sat on those pages in black ink.
Then another investigator placed several photographs beside the documents.
I stared.
Luxury vacations.
Beach resorts.
Cruise ships.
High-end restaurants.
Paige smiling beside people I'd never met.
My mother wearing designer clothes.
All timestamped during years they had told me money was tight.
One receipt showed a seven-thousand-dollar Caribbean cruise.
The date matched the same month Gwen had sold her hair.
I couldn't breathe for a moment.
While Gwen wondered whether she would survive cancer...
...they were drinking champagne on a cruise ship.
"There is one more thing," Detective Morales said quietly.
She pushed forward a small flash drive.
"What's this?"
"Security footage."
"From where?"
"A private investment seminar."
I plugged it into the conference room laptop.
The video began.
There was my mother.
There was Paige.
And beside them stood a sharply dressed man in an expensive gray suit.
Richard Lawson.
A presenter smiled at the audience.
"So where did your investment capital originate?"
Richard laughed.
"My best client?"
He pointed toward my mother.
"She has a son working in northern Canada."
"Steady income."
"Very trusting."
"Never asks questions."
The audience laughed.
Richard laughed with them.
Then Paige joined in.
"So basically..."
"...your investor doesn't even know he's investing?"
Richard winked.
"Sometimes the easiest clients..."
"...are the ones who never sign the paperwork themselves."
The room erupted with laughter again.
I felt sick.
Not because of the money.
Because somewhere, while I believed my family was protecting my wife...
...they had turned my trust into a joke.
Detective Morales stopped the video.
"We believe this recording establishes intent."
"Intent to deceive."
"Intent to conceal."
"And intent to profit."
I looked at her.
"What happens now?"
She closed the binder.
"Now..."
May you like
"...we follow the money."
"And this investigation is about to become much bigger than your family."
