Chapter 13 - Forty-Eight Hours Married
At 8:06 the next morning, forty-eight hours had not yet passed since I walked down the aisle.
At 8:06, I walked into a police station.
There were no flowers.
No music.
No champagne.
Just fluorescent lights and a detective named Monica Reyes who listened carefully while Rebecca laid out the evidence.
The forged email.
The banking attempts.
The text messages.
The asset folder.
The company call.
The insurance inquiry.
Detective Reyes did not make dramatic declarations.
She asked questions.
Had Julian ever had permission to access my accounts?
No.
Had I ever authorized him to speak for me regarding my shares?
No.
Had I signed any loan documents?
No.
Had Julian had access to my identification?
Yes.
During wedding planning, he had photographed my driver’s license and passport information to book travel.
Reyes wrote that down.
“Did he have your Social Security number?”
My stomach tightened.
“Yes.”
“How?”
“We completed the marriage-license application together.”
Rebecca and Reyes exchanged a glance.
I hated that glance.
“What?”
Reyes capped her pen.
“Nothing yet.”
“But you should continue monitoring your credit.”
“I froze it.”
“Good.”
Rebecca placed printed copies of the folder photographs on the table.
Reyes examined them slowly.
When she reached the red sentence about my emotional attachment to Julian, she looked up.
“This is unusual.”
“That’s one word for it.”
My voice came out colder than expected.
The detective didn’t smile.
“This could support a broader pattern.”
“Can you contact the other women?”
“We can.”
“Will you?”
“If the investigation justifies it.”
She was careful.
Professional.
And somehow that made the situation more real.
When the interview ended, Rebecca and I walked directly to the courthouse.
She filed the initial petition seeking annulment based on fraud, with divorce pleaded in the alternative.
I signed my name.
The same signature someone had copied.
This time it belonged entirely to me.
Outside the courthouse, reporters were waiting for another case.
None of them knew who I was.
None cared.
I was grateful.
Julian had been terrified of public humiliation.
I wasn’t interested in giving him drama.
I wanted documentation.
Distance.
And freedom.
Then Rebecca’s phone rang.
She answered.
Her face changed.
“What?”
She turned away from me.
“When?”
A pause.
“Did anyone sign?”
Another pause.
“No.”
“Do not process anything.”
She hung up.
“What happened?”
She looked at me.
“Julian went to your bank.”
My stomach dropped.
“In person?”
“Yes.”
“With what?”
“Your marriage certificate copy and a power-of-attorney document.”
I stared at her.
“I never signed a power of attorney.”
“I know.”
My father arrived ten minutes later.
By then the bank had emailed a scan.
Rebecca opened it on her laptop.
The document looked official.
My name.
Julian’s name.
A notary stamp.
And at the bottom, a signature that looked almost exactly like mine.
Almost.
But not quite.
Rebecca enlarged the notary seal.
My father leaned toward the screen.
The notary’s name was Victoria Voss.
I stared at it.
“Can your mother-in-law notarize a document giving her son control over your finances?”
Rebecca’s expression turned grim.
“She can notarize signatures under certain circumstances.”
“But she cannot legally notarize a signature that Elena never made.”
I looked at the document again.
Julian hadn’t panicked when I left.
May you like
He had simply moved to the next part of the plan.
And this time, they had handed us something with Victoria’s name stamped directly onto it.
