Chapter 4 - THE COMPANY WITH MY NAME ON IT
Eric looked at the promissory note in my hand.
Then at his mother.
“What are you doing?”
Diane stood.
“She knows about the loan.”
“You brought that here?”
“She already knew about the HELOC.”
“Mom.”
“Did she sign it?”
Eric’s eyes moved to me.
I held the document up.
“Answer her.”
He closed the door.
That small action made my mother rise from the visitor chair.
She had returned twenty minutes earlier and had been silently reading a magazine she had not turned a page of.
“Leave it open,” Mom said.
Eric looked at her.
“This is family.”
“So is my daughter.”
I said, “Leave the door open.”
Eric opened it again.
Then he dropped the duffel bag onto a chair.
“I can explain the note.”
“Did I sign it?”
“You knew about Oakline.”
“That wasn’t my question.”
“You knew I wanted to start something.”
“Did I sign the note?”
His nostrils flared.
“No.”
Diane sank back into the chair.
I looked at him.
“You forged my signature.”
“I signed your name because we had discussed investing.”
“No. You committed forgery because you needed your mother to think I had guaranteed a loan.”
“Don’t use criminal language like you’re in a deposition.”
“I use accurate language.”
“This is exactly what I’m talking about.”
“What are you talking about?”
“You make everything sound dirty.”
My mother made a disbelieving sound.
Eric ignored her.
“I had an opportunity.”
“What opportunity?”
“A distribution contract.”
“With whom?”
“It fell through.”
“What company?”
“Oakline.”
“That’s your company. I’m asking who the customer was.”
He rubbed his face.
“You’re doing it again.”
“Answering questions is apparently unbearable for you.”
“Maya, I was trying to build something for us.”
“You used eighty-eight thousand dollars of your mother’s home equity.”
“I was going to repay her.”
“With my maternity fund.”
“With our money.”
“And sixty-one thousand dollars from my business?”
His eyes sharpened.
Diane looked between us.
“What sixty-one thousand?”
Eric said nothing.
I watched Diane’s face.
She genuinely had not known.
That mattered.
Not because it cleared her.
Because it divided the conspiracy into pieces.
People rarely share every fact when they are lying together.
They share only what each person needs.
I said, “Someone using Eric’s computer tried to transfer sixty-one thousand eight hundred dollars from my business account to Carter Family Housing LLC.”
Diane stared at him.
“You said the rest was your commission account.”
Eric turned on her.
“Stop talking.”
“No.”
It was the first time I had ever heard Diane use that word with him.
She clutched her purse.
“What did you try to put into my account?”
“Nothing happened.”
“That isn’t what I asked.”
“It was a temporary transfer.”
I almost admired the phrase.
Temporary transfer.
As if money had become a houseguest.
“Why my LLC?” I asked.
“Because you had cash sitting there.”
“It’s a quarterly tax reserve.”
“You have more than enough.”
“You don’t know what I owe.”
“I know what you make.”
“No, Eric. You know what you think I make.”
He laughed bitterly.
“Exactly.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means every conversation in this marriage eventually turns into you knowing more.”
My mother stepped toward him.
“That’s because she is asking you a direct question and you refuse to answer.”
“Stay out of it, Helen.”
“No.”
He looked startled.
Mom had always been polite to Eric.
Almost painfully polite.
She pointed toward the hallway.
“My granddaughter is lying under a heat lamp breathing through a tube. My daughter is four rooms away with twenty staples in her abdomen. You are not going to stand here and turn this into a complaint about her vocabulary.”
Eric grabbed the duffel bag.
“I brought her clothes.”
“Leave them.”
He looked at me.
“You really want to do this here?”
“I didn’t choose here.”
“No. You chose to grab at Mom in front of everyone.”
Diane flinched.
I stared at him.
“Is that what you’re telling people?”
“I’m saying there was a scene.”
“You caused it.”
“You escalated it.”
“I asked for my money back.”
“Our money.”
“You had already lied about why you took it.”
“Mom needed to be repaid.”
“For the loan I didn’t sign.”
“For money used on our future.”
“Show me the business records.”
He stopped.
“Show me Oakline.”
“It’s not that simple.”
“I’m a forensic accountant. I promise I can keep up.”
Diane looked at him.
“Show her.”
He turned.
“You don’t understand any of this.”
“No,” Diane said quietly. “Apparently I don’t.”
For the first time, Eric looked afraid.
Not panicked.
Cornered.
He picked up the duffel bag and walked out.
Diane stayed.
I photographed every page of the promissory note.
Then I asked her for the original.
She hesitated.
“If I give it to you, what happens?”
“I preserve it.”
“Are you going to the police?”
“I haven’t decided.”
“You just said he forged you.”
“He did.”
“That could ruin his life.”
I looked through the glass wall toward the direction of the NICU.
“My daughter was born eight weeks early while he was moving money behind my back.”
“Nobody meant for you to fall.”
“I didn’t say they did.”
That sentence landed between us.
The same sentence Eric had used outside recovery.
Nobody pushed her.
Nobody meant for you to fall.
Two defenses against accusations I had not made.
Diane stood slowly.
“I should go.”
“Leave the note.”
She placed it on the table.
At the door, she paused.
“He told me you were involved in Oakline.”
“I wasn’t.”
“He showed me papers.”
“What papers?”
“Company documents.”
“With my name?”
“Yes.”
“What did they say?”
“I didn’t read them closely.”
“Of course you didn’t.”
She accepted that without argument.
After she left, I opened the North Carolina Secretary of State website.
Oakline Medical Distribution LLC had been formed nine months earlier.
Organizer: Eric Carter.
Registered office: our home address.
Initial filing: Eric Carter, manager.
Nothing about me.
I almost exhaled.
Then I opened the amendment filed six weeks later.
MEMBERSHIP STRUCTURE UPDATE.
ERIC CARTER – 50%.
MAYA BENNETT CARTER – 50%.
The electronic filing certification contained an email address.
Mine.
I opened the attached annual report.
Under OFFICERS:
ERIC CARTER – PRESIDENT.
MAYA BENNETT CARTER – CHIEF FINANCIAL OFFICER.
I read it twice.
Then a third time.
My professional license did not prohibit owning a distribution company.
But my firm handled healthcare fraud matters.
Oakline sold medical supplies.
If Eric had used my name in bids, loan applications, or vendor certifications, the conflict problem could become much larger than our marriage.
I called Tessa.
“I need Marissa now.”
“What did you find?”
“He listed me as CFO.”
“Of his company?”
“Yes.”
“Did you consent?”
“No.”
“Don’t touch anything else.”
“I already downloaded the state filings.”
“That’s public. Fine.”
“I need to know what else has my name.”
“We’ll do it correctly.”
“Tessa.”
“What?”
“My daughter is in intensive care, and I’m scared to go home.”
There was a pause.
Then Tessa said, “You’re not going home alone.”
I looked again at the state filing.
At the bottom, beneath the electronic certification, was a contact phone number I hadn’t noticed.
Not Eric’s.
Not mine.
I knew the last four digits.
May you like
I had called them every Christmas for eleven years.
The filing contact number belonged to Diane.
