Chapter 6: What Derek Built and What It Cost
Voss called me the next morning with a name: Agent Carla Reyes, Florida Department of Financial Services, Insurance Fraud Division.
"She wants to meet with you today," Voss said.
"You're not a suspect.
You're a witness.
But what you have — the photographs, the deed, the birth certificate — she needs originals or certified copies, and she needs your account of how you found them."
"I'll meet her."
"I'll come with you."
We met at a government building in downtown Miami, a conference room with fluorescent lights and a water jug nobody touched.
Agent Reyes was small and precise, with reading glasses she took on and off as she worked through my photographs on a tablet.
"Walk me through the storage unit," she said.
I did.
Every detail.
The golf clubs.
The loose panel.
The box landing at my feet.
The photograph.
The documents.
The way I had stood in that storage unit for four full minutes before I put everything back and said nothing.
Reyes looked up.
"Why didn't you come forward then?"
"I didn't know what I was looking at.
I thought—" I stopped.
"I thought if I waited, there would be an explanation.
Something I'd missed."
"And now?"
"Now I think I was afraid of what the explanation actually was."
Reyes nodded.
No judgment.
She turned back to the tablet.
"Derek Marsh has been a licensed insurance agent in Florida for eleven years," she said.
"Clean record.
No prior complaints.
Two commendations from Coastal Premier for client retention." She set the tablet down.
"The holding company that funded the Hialeah property — Marsh Coastal Holdings LLC — was registered four years ago.
The same month you were married."
The water jug sat between us, untouched.
"He set it up right after the wedding," I said.
"The timing suggests that, yes." Reyes folded her hands.
"We've been in contact with three of Derek's former clients.
Two of them have identified discrepancies in their policy accounts — fees charged for services that were never rendered, small enough to avoid triggering automatic reviews.
Over four years, the total is significant."
"How significant?"
She paused.
"We're still calculating.
But enough to fund a property purchase and ongoing maintenance." Another pause.
"And enough to support a second household."
I looked at the table.
Derek had built two lives.
One for show — the Edgewater apartment, the pressed suits, the charming smile.
One in Hialeah — a woman who thought she was loved, a child who didn't know her father's real name, a house paid for with money stolen in increments small enough to hide.
And I had been the front of it.
The respectable wife.
The logistics administrator with savings and a mortgage-free apartment.
The woman whose name and stability made Derek look like exactly the kind of man you'd trust with your insurance policy.
"He used me," I said.
Not a question.
Reyes didn't soften it.
"Your financial stability and your property ownership made him appear lower-risk to his employer.
Yes."
"And Marisol?"
"Ms.
Fuentes is cooperating fully.
She was not aware of the source of the funds." Reyes looked at me directly.
"She found out Derek was married the same day we contacted her.
She asked us to tell you—" A pause.
"She asked us to tell you she's sorry."
I pressed my lips together.
A woman I had never met, raising a child alone in a house built on stolen money, sending me an apology through a federal agent.
"What happens to her?" I said.
"To the property?"
"That's being worked through legal channels.
The goal is to protect Ms.
Fuentes and the child from the consequences of actions they had no part in." Reyes picked up her pen.
"Our focus is Derek."
My phone buzzed on the table.
I turned it over.
Derek.
A call, not a text.
I looked at Reyes.
She nodded once.
I answered and put it on speaker.
"Skylar." His voice was careful.
Controlled.
The insurance salesman voice — warm, reasonable, the voice that made clients feel safe.
"I know you're talking to people.
I know things look bad right now.
But I need you to hear me out before this goes any further."
"I'm listening," I said.
"Everything I did — the account, the property — I was going to tell you.
I was building toward something.
I was going to bring Marisol and the baby into the open, properly, once things were stable.
I never wanted to hurt you."
"You threw coffee at my face, Derek."
A pause.
"I panicked.
I knew you'd found something and I panicked.
That was wrong.
I know it was wrong." Another pause, and his voice dropped.
"But Skylar — if you let this investigation go forward, I lose my license.
I lose everything.
My mother loses her house.
Think about what you're doing."
"I'm not doing anything," I said.
"You did this."
"Skylar—"
"I'm going to ask you one question," I said.
"And I want a straight answer."
Silence.
"How long have you known Marisol?"
The pause was three seconds too long.
"Six years," he said.
Six years.
Two years before we met.
Four years of marriage.
A child fourteen months old.
Agent Reyes was writing something on her notepad.
She turned it toward me: *Keep him talking.*
"Did you love her?" I said.
"That's not—"
"Did you love her, Derek?"
Another long pause.
"Yes."
"Then why did you marry me?"
The line was quiet for a long moment.
"Because she wouldn't," he said finally.
"Marisol wouldn't marry me.
She didn't trust me enough." A bitter edge entered his voice.
"Turns out she was right."
I ended the call.
Reyes set her pen down.
She didn't say anything for a moment.
Then: "That recording will be very useful."
I nodded.
My hands were steady.
I was surprised to find that they were steady.
"What happens next?" I said.
"We execute a warrant for his financial records," she said.
"Probably within forty-eight hours." She looked at me.
"Skylar, I want to prepare you — when this becomes official, it will likely become public.
His employer, his license board, possibly the press."
"I know."
"Are you ready for that?"
I thought about the storage unit.
The panel.
The box at my feet.
Fourteen months of carrying something I didn't understand, alone, in silence, across a breakfast table every morning.
May you like
"I've been ready," I said.
"I just didn't know it yet."
