Chapter 5 - THE MAN I THOUGHT I WAS MARRIED TO
Northstar wasn't Mark's employer.
It was a private lender.
Jim found that out before I did.
By Saturday evening, we knew Mark had personally guaranteed several short-term loans connected to a real-estate investment company called Waverly Partners.
I had heard the name once.
Mark described it as “a side project with some guys from work.”
The side project owed more than $300,000.
Mark had invested money I never knew existed.
Then lost it.
The blood inside his SUV turned out to be his.
A hospital twenty miles outside Columbus reported that Mark had shown up shortly after three in the morning with a deep cut across his palm and several smaller lacerations.
He claimed he'd fallen onto broken glass.
He left before finishing treatment.
Police had not arrested him.
They simply wanted to speak with him.
When Detective Bennett told me that, I felt relief first.
Then anger at myself for feeling relieved.
Dad sat at my kitchen table Sunday morning while Jim organized documents.
“I liked him,” Dad said.
The past tense hurt.
“He liked you too.”
Dad gave me a look.
“I have lived long enough to know liking someone and using them aren't mutually exclusive.”
I sat across from him.
Months earlier, Dad had agreed to let Mark review his homeowner's insurance because premiums had increased.
Mark used that opportunity to scan the entire contents of Dad's fireproof document box.
Dad remembered him saying it would be easier to digitize everything.
Passport.
Deed.
Tax returns.
Social Security statement.
Old mortgage satisfaction document.
Mark had offered convenience.
Dad had handed him identity.
Then Jim found a draft email on Dad's laptop.
Dad had written it Thursday night but never sent it.
Mark—
I spoke with Jim. I know you made inquiries about borrowing against my house. Whatever you are dealing with, my home will not be used to solve it. We will discuss this after my hospital appointment.
Dad looked at the screen.
“I thought I sent that.”
“You didn't.”
“But I told him on the phone.”
“When?”
“Thursday night.”
“What did he say?”
Dad's eyes narrowed as he remembered.
“He said I was confused.”
The room changed.
“Exactly those words?”
“Yes.”
Then Dad looked embarrassed.
“He asked whether I'd taken my evening medication twice.”
Dad had not.
Mark knew that.
Because Mark had helped organize his pillbox after Dad's cataract surgery six months earlier.
It was another small detail that had felt caring at the time.
By Sunday, I was beginning to understand something I didn't want to admit.
Mark's scheme had not started when he needed money.
May you like
It had started when he realized affection gave him access.
And access could eventually be converted into authority.
