Divorced! Now what?

Chapter 37

Bethany POV



My night was shattered around four am when my phone went off. I groggily rolled over and grabbed it, not checking the number.

'Hello.' I was not fully awake enough to think clearly.

'Bethany Peterson?' The male voice asked. I pulled the phone from my ear and checked the number. It said a private number.

'Yes. Who is this?' I wondered who would call me this early. I still need to get my number.

'We are from the fraud squad, and we have some questions to ask about your case?' Fraud squad? What case?

'Do you realize it is four o'clock in the morning?' I was a little stunned when they decided to call me.

'Yes, sorry for the early start. Can you come to the station?' What? You have to be kidding.

'What now?' I was not even fully awake yet.

'Yes, Ma'am.' He was not rude, but not polite either.

'Okay, give me half an hour to get dressed.'

'We will send a car for you.' the phone went dead before I could say anything else.

Not sure how long I would be at the station, I dressed for work and grabbed my case, which held the information I had been collecting regarding all the times Bret had been away. I had a lot of paperwork that I was sure was not work-related; I have doubles, so I would not need to worry if they took this from me. I have all the originals; having a Dad as a police officer taught me a few things. I managed a slice of toast and half my coffee before my phone rang. 

'Hello?'

'We are downstairs.' the voice was rough and abrupt.

Not bothering to answer, I hung up, put my dishes in the dishwasher, and left. I was not at all happy to be doing this at that time of day. How could they do this to average people?

Two men in black suits waited outside. It was embarrassing. Guess the bright side of being so early in the morning: no one was around to see this except the doorman, who nodded at me with a cheerful smile, which I gladly returned. He was a nice older man. The stories that he could tell about the comings and goings of this building, he could write a good novel.

I was guided to the back door, and it was closed with a click that sent a nervous tremor across my skin. I felt like some criminal instead of the victim. What was all this cloak-and-dagger stuff about? The vehicle drove to a part of town I had yet to explore. I watched the passing buildings and thought this was a less refined middle to upper-class area. The stores were lovely. I can see myself happy to be seen shopping here. I was not a snob, so shopping in a store for clothes that cost more than many make in a month did not appeal to me. I had spent that sort of money on a gala event, and more because of the snobbish ways of my mother, which had nothing to do with my choice of clothing.

The car stopped at the back of a building, and my door opened.

'Ms Peterson. This way.' I followed a woman who did not identify herself in the building. She was in her mid-thirties, dressed in black like the men, and I am now kicking myself for not asking for ID when they picked me up. How do I know these people are who they say they are? Going through the back door seemed off. She led me through a long hall and into an interview room which held a table with four chairs. I took the seat she had indicated and waited.

She went and stood by the door we had just entered. On one wall, a vast, two-way mirror was on display. I wondered what all this was about. Indeed, it was not just because of what Bret had been up to. 

I was there for ten minutes before three men came and sat opposite me.

They introduced themselves but did not say what part they worked for. I was still a little confused by all of this.

'Sorry for the delay. Would you care for a coffee?' one asked. He was the eldest of them all.

'Please, I have work at eight. When you are done here, you can take me to work. I thought I would get that out of the way first, as I was not sure how long or upset I would be.

'We won't keep you too long.' One of the others opened a folder before him, flicking through pages as if looking for a particular page. A knock on the door had heads looking up, and a woman came in with a tray with four cups of coffee. 

'Is your mother's name Wendy Peterson?' What does the mother have to do with this?

'Yes.' I answered with a frown.

'Your father recently left her and moved to our town. I believe he is in the main station.' What? Don't pull Dad into this.

'That is correct.'

'Why?' 

'Why what, sir?' I could not see where this was going.

'Why did your father leave his wife?'

'My mother had taken sides, and my father did not agree. As he had been staying where he was to keep the peace in the house, he decided enough was enough. You need more intimate information, and you will need to ask him.' I did not at all like this conversation.

'Relax, your father is in the clear and is an outstanding detective. He is not our reason for asking you. When it comes to loved ones, judgment can be impaired, and he is as innocent as you are.'

'Can you please tell me what is going on?'

'All in good time. What do you know about the hotel in Las Vegas two years ago?' 

I grabbed the small briefcase I had brought with me, placed it on the table, unlocked it, and opened the revealed folders of each query I had written my thoughts on. I had already been looking into each bank statement since our divorce and trying to piece each part of Bret's betrayal together. I lifted the files and started to look for a date in Las Vegas.

'May we see all of that?' I looked at the man and sighed. If he really wanted it and I refused to give it to them, they would only get a court order and seize it anyway. 

I handed them over.

'When I realized I had been cheated on more than once, I started going through all my bank records and started to correlate them to other things that happened around that time.'

'You are thorough and have saved us a lot of time. Can we keep these? I will get them back to you once. I have taken a copy of all of this, which is interesting.'

'Sure, it is almost complete.' What else could I say?

'I see you have a date here, including your mother. Why is that?' 

'My mother was always very ... let's use the word 'supportive' of my sister, and when I started going through all of this, I noticed she had been to some of those so-called seminars, and it made me hunt down what else my mother had been up to too. You will see a folder in there on what I have on her so far, but honestly, I have just started to look into that side of it.'

'Your father has been duped like you. Your mother has been having a lot of weddings over the years, and we believe she was the one who introduced the idea to your sister. We still have a long way to go before any charges can be laid, but this will help us speed up the process.'

'OH, poor dad. Does he know this?' My heart was saddened for my dad, and he loved my mother.

'Yes, he was told a few days ago and is aiding us in our inquiries. There is a group that is in this together. It is not just your mother and sister; what you have here is a lot of good evidence. We have been working on this for almost a year and have most of the names. We still need a crucial link. When we have found it, we will start our arrests.'

'Please keep this quiet. You can talk to your father, but no one else. Is that clear?'

'Yeah, I get it.' 

'Good, well, with this paperwork to sieve through, I will drop you off at your work. We will be in touch when we have had a good look at this.'

'Thank you.' I wouldn't say I liked this interview; something was still slightly off, and my internal radar was on fire.

I left the station shattered, not just from broken sleep, but my heart aches for my dad. What has my mum done over the years?





2024-05-19 16:04:31

Chapter 38 - Divorced! Now what?