Chapter 4 - THE MONEY IN GWEN’S SECRET ACCOUNT
Gwen stared at the statement.
Then at me.
“Gavin.”
Paige laughed.
“Go ahead.”
She folded her arms.
“Tell him.”
Mom came down the last stair.
“This is what I tried to explain.”
I picked up the bank statement.
The account had been opened two years earlier.
Deposits appeared every month.
Six hundred.
Eight hundred.
Sometimes twelve hundred dollars.
No transfers from my Canadian account.
I looked at Gwen.
“Where did this come from?”
She closed her eyes.
“Work.”
Paige snorted.
“What work?”
“I did bookkeeping.”
“For who?”
“Small businesses.”
Mom shook her head.
“She stole customers from people online.”
Gwen looked at me.
“I used your old laptop.”
“What bookkeeping?”
“QuickBooks cleanup. Payroll entries. Receipts.”
“You told me you weren’t working.”
“I couldn’t tell you.”
“Why?”
She looked toward Mom.
That answered part of it.
I kept my voice controlled.
“What was the money for?”
“Getting out.”
Paige laughed.
“There it is.”
Gwen turned toward me.
“Not from you.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“Your face did.”
Fair.
She continued.
“I started saving after the deed.”
“How much did Mom know?”
“Nothing until last month.”
“Then how did Paige find the statement?”
“My mail.”
Paige shrugged.
“You shouldn’t leave financial documents lying around.”
“It was inside my underwear drawer.”
Tyler looked at Paige.
Even he seemed uncomfortable.
I asked Gwen, “Why didn’t you leave?”
Her mouth opened.
Then closed.
I understood part of the answer before she said it.
“Because of the title.”
She nodded.
“And because they said if I left, they’d tell you I stole the construction money.”
Mom laughed.
“You did steal.”
Gwen looked at her.
“No.”
Mom pointed at the statement.
“Forty-three thousand dollars.”
“My money.”
“Our electricity paid for the internet you used.”
I almost laughed at the insanity.
Instead I turned toward Gwen.
“Get your shoes.”
Paige stepped forward.
“You’re really taking her side?”
“I’m taking her to a doctor.”
“She was at a doctor.”
“Without me.”
“You’re not her father.”
“No.”
I looked directly at Paige.
“I’m the husband you’ve been spending.”
Nobody stopped us this time.
Maybe the Canadian settlement story still mattered.
Maybe Mom thought I would calm down.
Maybe she believed the bank statement had planted enough doubt.
I drove Gwen to Cox Medical Center South.
She kept both hands in her lap.
“I didn’t steal from you.”
“I know.”
“You hesitated.”
“I’m allowed to be confused for ten seconds.”
She looked out the window.
“Grant me ten seconds.”
Her mouth twitched.
Then she winced as the seat belt pressed against her ribs.
I saw it.
“What happened there?”
“Nothing.”
“Gwen.”
“Later.”
The emergency physician ordered blood work after seeing her weight and scalp.
Her hemoglobin was low.
Iron severely low.
Electrolytes abnormal.
She was dehydrated.
The doctor lifted her cardigan.
Bruises marked her ribs.
One looked older.
Another dark.
Gwen turned her face toward the wall.
The doctor asked me to step out.
I did.
The waiting-room television showed a Cardinals game.
I stared at the score without understanding it.
A nurse came out forty minutes later.
“Mr. Cole?”
I stood.
“Your wife would like you back.”
Gwen sat on the bed.
A social worker stood beside her.
The doctor closed the door.
“Mrs. Cole has given us permission to discuss her injuries with you.”
I nodded.
“She has evidence of significant nutritional deprivation.”
My throat tightened.
“Starvation?”
The doctor chose his words.
“Chronic inadequate intake.”
“Because she refused to eat?”
Gwen shook her head.
“No.”
The social worker sat beside her.
“Gwen says food access was sometimes restricted as punishment.”
I looked at my wife.
“How?”
“They locked the pantry.”
Mom had proudly shown me the electronic keypad on the new walk-in pantry.
“Keeps things organized,” she said.
I swallowed.
“What about her ribs?”
“Likely healing fracture.”
“When?”
Gwen whispered, “June.”
“Who?”
“Paige.”
My hands tightened.
“What happened?”
“I tried to leave.”
“Where?”
“Bus station.”
“She stopped you?”
“She found my bag.”
“How?”
“My mother?”
Gwen nodded.
“She called Paige.”
“Your mother?”
“No.”
She looked confused.
Then understood.
“Your mother.”
Of course.
“I got to the driveway.”
“What happened?”
“Paige shoved me into the gate.”
I closed my eyes.
“And your scalp?”
The doctor looked at Gwen.
She answered herself.
“Mom held me.”
I opened my eyes.
“Mine?”
“Yes.”
“Margaret held you while Paige shaved your head.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“They found a letter.”
“To me?”
She nodded.
“What did it say?”
“That I wouldn’t sign anything and I was going to the police.”
I leaned against the wall.
The social worker said gently, “Mr. Cole, the hospital can help Mrs. Cole make a police report if she wants.”
I looked at Gwen.
Not my decision.
“Do you want to?”
Her eyes moved toward me.
Then away.
“Yes.”
The word was barely audible.
Still hers.
Springfield police sent an officer.
He photographed injuries.
Collected the hospital documentation.
Took Gwen’s statement.
No one promised arrests.
No one promised prison.
He asked questions.
Dates.
Names.
Witnesses.
Whether she had ever been prevented from leaving.
Gwen described the locked room.
The confiscated phone.
The June incident.
The shaving.
The officer wrote everything.
Then he asked, “Did anyone ever threaten you with a weapon?”
“No.”
“Threaten to kill you?”
“No.”
“Threaten consequences if you left?”
“Yes.”
“What?”
“They said Gavin would believe I stole from him.”
The officer glanced at me.
“And did you?”
I answered before Gwen could.
“I almost did for ten seconds today.”
The officer nodded.
“Keep being honest.”
We stayed at a hotel near the medical district.
I called Margaret and told her Gwen needed observation overnight.
I did not give the room number.
Mom said, “Bring her home tomorrow.”
I answered, “We’ll see.”
At midnight, Gwen finally slept.
I sat at the desk with the financial documents I had photographed.
I searched the routing number on Gwen’s secret account.
Then the transactions.
Most deposits came from legitimate bookkeeping clients.
But six deposits stood out.
Each one was exactly $2,500.
Sender:
HAYES CONSTRUCTION SERVICES.
The contractor who had built our house.
Total:
$15,000.
I woke Gwen.
“Why did the contractor pay you?”
She stared at the screen.
Then sat up.
“He didn’t.”
“The bank says he did.”
Her face changed.
“I’ve never worked for Hayes.”
“You’re sure?”
“Yes.”
I looked at the deposits again.
Fifteen thousand dollars.
Into Gwen’s secret account.
Exactly the kind of evidence Margaret would need to accuse her of stealing construction money.
Then my phone buzzed.
Unknown number.
May you like
A text.
GAVIN, THIS IS TOM HAYES. YOUR MOTHER JUST CALLED ME. BEFORE YOU BELIEVE ANYTHING SHE SAYS ABOUT GWEN’S ACCOUNT, YOU NEED TO KNOW WHO ACTUALLY OPENED IT.
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