CHAPTER 8
The company was called Selina Family Holdings.
I had never heard of it.
Neither had Phedra.
Naomi found the registration within hours.
Selina had created the company fourteen months earlier.
The timing mattered.
Fourteen months ago, Phedra was healthy.
Eleven months ago, she was diagnosed with cancer.
And during both periods, my mother had been receiving money from me regularly.
“What does the company do?” I asked.
“According to its registration?” Naomi replied. “Property management and investments.”
“Does it own property?”
“Not that we’ve found.”
“What investments?”
“We’re still tracing them.”
I stared at the paperwork.
“Why create it?”
Naomi looked at me.
“Possibly to separate assets. Possibly for Godfrey’s business. Possibly for something unrelated.”
“You don’t believe the last one.”
“I don’t believe anything until I can prove it.”
I had heard that sentence so many times I could repeat it in my sleep.
The investigators moved faster after connecting the fraudulent settlement email to Selina’s company account.
They obtained records.
The pattern became clearer.
Money I sent to Selina did not simply stay in her personal account.
Large amounts were transferred into Selina Family Holdings.
From there, payments went to Godfrey’s business.
A dealership.
A furniture store.
A contractor.
A luxury electronics retailer.
One payment went toward the SUV.
Another covered Godfrey’s equipment deposit.
Only tiny amounts went to medical providers.
Naomi placed a spreadsheet in front of me.
“Based on the records we have so far, less than one percent of the money you sent during Phedra’s illness appears to have gone toward her medical care.”
I stared at the number.
Less than one percent.
“How much?”
“Direct payments we can verify? Six hundred eighty dollars.”
I leaned back.
I remembered overtime shifts where my shoulder burned so badly I swallowed painkillers in the bathroom and returned to work.
Six hundred eighty dollars.
Phedra’s last missed oncology appointment had cost less than the watch Godfrey wore the day I came home.
Phedra did not want to see the spreadsheet.
“I already know,” she said.
“You don’t have to look.”
“I lived it.”
She was right.
Numbers were evidence for everyone else.
Her body was evidence for her.
Treatment was rough.
By the second round, nausea hit harder.
She slept more.
Some mornings, she could barely finish breakfast.
But the hospital treated every symptom.
Medication.
Nutrition.
Fluids.
Warm blankets.
Simple things.
Things my family had somehow convinced her she did not deserve.
One evening, a nurse brought crackers and Phedra started crying.
The nurse looked worried.
“Are you hurting?”
Phedra shook her head.
“No.”
“Then what happened?”
Phedra stared at the packet.
“She asked me what flavor I wanted.”
The nurse looked confused.
I understood.
For months, choices had been taken from her.
When she ate.
Where she slept.
Whether she saw a doctor.
Whether she could call me.
Now someone asking, plain or salted, felt enormous.
“Salted,” Phedra whispered.
The nurse smiled.
“Salted it is.”
After she left, Phedra wiped her eyes.
“I must look ridiculous.”
“No.”
“I’m crying over crackers.”
“You’re allowed.”
She laughed.
Then I laughed.
For ten seconds, cancer and fraud disappeared.
We were just husband and wife sitting together over crackers.
The next morning, Selina requested a meeting through Naomi.
Naomi advised against direct contact unless investigators approved.
They did.
They wanted her talking.
The meeting took place in Naomi’s conference room.
Godfrey was not there.
He had retained his own attorney.
Selina arrived with Aunt Bernice.
Bernice looked surprised.
“I’m not here for support,” she told Selina. “You said you needed a ride.”
Selina’s jaw tightened.
Naomi started an audio recorder with everyone’s consent.
My mother stared at me.
“You look tired.”
“So does Phedra.”
She looked away.
“I want this war to stop.”
“I didn’t start it.”
“You involved police.”
“Somebody forged my signature.”
“Godfrey makes stupid decisions.”
I leaned forward.
“The account belonged to your company.”
Selina froze.
It was only for half a second.
But I saw it.
Naomi saw it too.
“What company?” Selina asked.
I said nothing.
Naomi answered.
“Selina Family Holdings.”
Bernice turned toward my mother.
“You have a company?”
Selina’s expression hardened.
“It’s for the family.”
“There’s that word again,” I said.
She ignored me.
“Godfrey handles paperwork. I sign things.”
“Did you create the account?”
“I don’t remember.”
“You forgot creating a company?”
“I have many responsibilities.”
Naomi slid a copy of the registration toward her.
Selina’s signature was at the bottom.
She did not touch it.
I asked one question.
“Did you try to redirect my settlement?”
“No.”
“Did Godfrey?”
“I don’t know.”
“Did you know he had my passport copy?”
“No.”
“Did you take my documents?”
“No.”
Bernice suddenly spoke.
“Selina.”
My mother turned.
“You told me Damian gave Godfrey permission to use his Canadian papers for business.”
The room went still.
Selina’s face changed.
“When?”
Bernice frowned.
“Last summer.”
“That’s not what I said.”
“Yes, it is.”
“You misunderstood.”
“You said Damian trusted the family enough that signatures didn’t matter because everything belonged together.”
Naomi stopped writing.
I stared at my mother.
Selina looked trapped.
Then she did something unexpected.
She stood.
“This meeting is over.”
Naomi remained calm.
“You’re free to leave.”
Selina grabbed her handbag.
Before reaching the door, she turned toward me.
“You think Phedra is innocent?”
I stood.
“What does that mean?”
Her smile was bitter.
“Ask your wife why she needed money before she got sick.”
I stared at her.
“She had debts.”
“What debts?”
Selina opened the door.
“Ask her.”
Then she walked out.
Bernice looked confused.
Naomi looked annoyed.
I felt something worse.
Doubt.
I hated myself for it immediately.
But Selina knew me.
She knew exactly where to place poison.
Not enough to prove anything.
Just enough to make me wonder.
I returned to the hospital.
Phedra saw my face.
“What happened?”
I sat beside her.
I could have hidden it.
Instead, I asked.
“Before you got sick, did you owe anyone money?”
Her expression changed.
“Yes.”
My chest tightened.
“How much?”
“About eight thousand.”
I stared at her.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
Tears appeared.
“Because it wasn’t my debt.”
“What does that mean?”
She looked toward the closed door.
May you like
Then she whispered the last thing I expected.
“Godfrey borrowed it in my name.”
