Chapter 4: Insurance and Lies
Officer Voss picked up on the second ring.
"Skylar.
How are you feeling?"
"Clearer," I said.
"I need to tell you something.
About the shoebox."
I told her everything.
The storage unit.
The photograph.
The birth certificate.
The deed of trust in Marisol Fuentes's name.
I told her about the cloud backup, the fourteen months of silence, the way Derek had looked at me across the breakfast table that morning like I was a problem he was deciding how to solve.
When I finished, Voss was quiet for a moment.
"The property in Hialeah," she said.
"Do you have the address?"
"Yes.
It's on the deed."
"Send me the photographs.
All of them." A pause.
"Skylar, I want to be careful here.
What you've described — a hidden property, a child not disclosed during marriage — that's potentially relevant to a financial investigation, not just the domestic incident.
I'm going to loop in a colleague.
Is that all right?"
"Yes."
"Good.
Don't contact Derek.
Don't contact Suzanne.
Don't contact Patricia.
If any of them reach out, screenshot it and forward it to me before you respond — actually, don't respond at all.
Can you do that?"
"I've been doing it since last night."
"Perfect." Another pause, and then something shifted in her voice — still professional, but warmer.
"You held onto that information for fourteen months.
That must have been heavy."
I looked out the small window of room seven at a strip of pale Miami sky.
"I didn't know what I was looking at," I said.
"I kept thinking there was an explanation."
"There may be," she said.
"But it's not your job to find it.
That's mine now."
She called back three hours later.
"The property in Hialeah is registered to a Marisol Fuentes, funded through a trust account," she said.
"The trust was established by a holding company.
The holding company lists one director." A beat.
"Derek Alan Marsh."
I sat down on the edge of the shelter bed.
"He used client funds," I said.
It wasn't a question.
I had worked in logistics for eight years.
I understood paper trails.
"We don't know that yet," Voss said carefully.
"But his employer — Coastal Premier Insurance — has been notified.
Their internal compliance team is already involved.
Skylar, this moved very fast this morning.
Faster than I expected."
My phone buzzed.
Derek again.
I held it up and read the message without opening it: *Skylar I am begging you.
Whatever you think you know, please talk to me first.
I can explain everything.
Please.*
I forwarded the screenshot to Voss without replying.
"He just messaged me again," I said.
"I saw it come through.
Don't answer." A pause.
"There's one more thing.
I spoke to Marisol Fuentes this morning."
My breath caught.
"You did?"
"She didn't know Derek was married," Voss said quietly.
"She thought they were separated.
He told her you were his ex-wife and that the divorce was almost final." A long pause.
"She has a fourteen-month-old daughter, Skylar.
She's been raising her mostly alone.
Derek visits once or twice a month."
The room was very still.
"Does she know?" I asked.
"About the money?
The property?"
"She knows the house is in her name.
She thought it was a gift.
She had no idea about the holding company or where the funds came from."
I pressed my fingers against my eyes.
Two women.
One man.
One child who had no part in any of it.
"What happens to her?" I said.
"To Marisol.
If the property is tied to fraud—"
"That's being worked through," Voss said.
"She's not a suspect.
But I wanted you to know before Derek finds a way to frame this differently." A pause.
"He's going to try, Skylar.
People like Derek always do.
He's going to come to you with an explanation that makes you feel like the problem."
My phone buzzed again.
This time it wasn't Derek.
It was Suzanne.
*I know you talked to the police.
You have no idea what you've done.
You need to fix this.
NOW.*
I stared at the message.
Then I forwarded it to Voss.
"Suzanne just contacted me," I said.
Voss exhaled slowly.
"Of course she did."
"She says I need to fix it."
A pause.
Then, very evenly: "You didn't break anything, Skylar.
Remember that."
I set the phone down.
Outside, Miami was going about its morning — traffic, voices, the distant sound of a siren fading west.
May you like
Somewhere in Hialeah, a fourteen-month-old girl was waking up in a house her father had paid for with other people's money.
And Derek was somewhere in this city, running out of explanations.
