I opened the envelope that evening at Marlene's dining table.
Inside was a single page.
At first glance, it looked like the hospital estimate Gavin had shown his mother.
But the formatting was different.
The logo was slightly wrong.
The telephone number at the bottom didn't match the number on the hospital's website.
I photographed it.
Then I sent it to Elise.
Her reply came quickly.
Do not contact the number on this document.
I stared at the page.
Marlene sat beside me.
“What is it?”
“I don't know yet.”
Elise called.
“This doesn't appear to be an official hospital document.”
My throat tightened.
“Then what is it?”
“I can't tell you who created it from the image alone. But it is not the document the hospital described to you.”
Marlene covered her mouth.
“He made it?”
“We don't know that yet,” Elise said. “But we know Gavin sent it to you or his mother.”
I looked at the date.
It was dated two days before my appointment.
The same day Gavin had asked Marlene for the $9,600.
Elise continued.
“I want you to keep every version you've received.”
“I will.”
“And I want you to ask the hospital for a written confirmation of what your actual financial requirements are.”
“I can do that.”
“Good.”
After we ended the call, Marlene looked at me.
“I gave him eight thousand because I thought you needed it.”
“I know.”
“I almost gave him another nine thousand six hundred.”
I reached across the table.
“You didn't.”
“No.”
She looked at the fake-looking document.
“I came very close.”
The next morning, I called the hospital.
A financial counselor confirmed that I did not need to pay $9,600 before delivery.
There were still costs to discuss.
There was an insurance issue to resolve.
There were payment options.
But there was no emergency payment requirement matching the document Gavin had shown Marlene.
They sent me an official estimate.
I compared the two documents side by side.
The difference was obvious once I knew what to look for.
The official document had a patient account number.
The other one didn't.
The official document listed the hospital's correct telephone number.
The other one listed a different number.
The official document explained that estimates could change.
The fake-looking document made the situation sound immediate and absolute.
I forwarded both to Elise.
Then I called the number at the bottom of the suspicious document from a blocked line.
A recording answered.
It wasn't the hospital.
I hung up.
I didn't tell Gavin.
I wanted him to explain it himself.
That afternoon, he sent me another message.
Can we talk tonight?
I answered.
Public place.
He agreed.
We met at a coffee shop near the courthouse.
I arrived early.
He came ten minutes late.
He sat across from me.
For several seconds, neither of us spoke.
Then he said, “I didn't make the hospital paper.”
I looked at him.
“You knew it wasn't real.”
He looked away.
“Where did it come from?”
“I got it from someone.”
“Who?”
He hesitated.
“A guy I know.”
“What guy?”
“Someone who helps with financial problems.”
My stomach tightened.
“What does that mean?”
“He said he could arrange money.”
“You sent your mother a fake hospital estimate to get $9,600.”
“I didn't make it.”
“You used it.”
He lowered his head.
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“I needed the money.”
“For gambling?”
He didn't answer.
“Gavin.”
“Yes.”
I sat back.
The coffee shop was busy around us.
Milk steamed behind the counter.
Someone laughed near the window.
A spoon struck the side of a cup.
Everything sounded painfully normal.
“You knew you were asking your mother for money under false pretenses.”
“I was desperate.”
“You were desperate because you gambled away our money.”
“I know.”
“And when that wasn't enough, you lied about the hospital.”
“I know.”
I looked at him.
“What else don't I know?”
He rubbed his hands together.
“There are debts.”
“How many?”
“I don't know.”
“You said seventy-one thousand.”
“That was the amount I knew about.”
My heart sank.
“There’s more?”
He nodded.
“How much?”
“I don't have the exact number.”
“Give me your phone.”
He looked at me.
“Why?”
“Because I want the names of the people you owe.”
“I can give them to you.”
“No.”
I kept my voice calm.
“I don't want another version of the truth.”
He stared at me.
Then he unlocked his phone.
He opened an email account.
There were messages from lenders.
Payment reminders.
Collection notices.
Betting services.
A loan company.
Two people whose names I didn't recognize.
I photographed each one.
Then I saw a message from a man named Rick.
It said:
You promised the balance by Friday. No more extensions.
I looked at Gavin.
“Who is Rick?”
“Someone from the business.”
“What does he want?”
“Money.”
“How much?”
“Twenty-four thousand.”
I stared at him.
“Twenty-four thousand dollars?”
He nodded.
I scrolled.
The message thread included a photograph of a signed agreement.
Gavin had borrowed money against a future business contract.
The contract was one of his company's largest expected jobs.
But the job had already been canceled.
He had borrowed against income that would never arrive.
I showed him the photograph.
“This is fraud.”
“I didn't think they'd care.”
“You signed something you couldn't repay.”
“I thought the contract would come back.”
I looked at him.
“You keep saying you thought.”
He said nothing.
I locked his phone.
“You're not getting this back until we make copies.”
His expression hardened.
“You can't take my phone.”
“Then send me the records yourself.”
He held out his hand.
I gave it back.
He forwarded the files.
I watched each email leave his account.
When we finished, he asked, “Will you come home?”
I shook my head.
“Not yet.”
“What do you need?”
“Truth.”
“I've told you everything.”
“No.”
He looked hurt.
“You have told me what you think I need to know.”
He stared at me.
“I don't know how to fix this.”
“I don't either.”
That was the most honest conversation we'd had in months.
Before I left, he said something that stopped me.
“There's one more thing.”
I turned.
“The money from Mom.”
“What about it?”
“I still have some of it.”
“How much?”
“Five hundred.”
I stared at him.
“You withdrew it as cash.”
“Yes.”
“What did you use it for?”
He looked down.
“Food.”
I didn't believe him.
He must have seen that.
“I bought groceries.”
“For yourself?”
“Yes.”
I remembered the hotel charges.
The casino.
The watch.
The restaurant.
He had spent thousands on gambling and travel, then told his mother he needed money for my hospital care.
Now he was asking me to believe five hundred dollars had gone toward groceries.
I didn't argue.
I simply stood.
“I need to go.”
He looked up.
“Audrey.”
“What?”
“I love you.”
I believed that he loved me.
That was the problem.
Love had never been enough to make someone honest.
I left the coffee shop.
Outside, the sky had turned gray.
My phone rang before I reached the car.
It was Elise.
“I reviewed the documents you sent.”
“And?”
“There is something you need to know.”
I stopped walking.
“What?”
“One of the loans lists you as a co-borrower.”
My breath caught.
“I never signed that.”
“I know.”
“How can my name be there?”
“That is what we need to determine.”
She paused.
“Do not accuse him yet.”
“Why?”
“Because I want to know exactly what he submitted.”
I looked through the windshield.
Marlene was waiting in the driver's seat.
I opened the passenger door.
“What did he do?”
Elise's voice was careful.
“I don't know yet.”
She paused.
“But if your signature was forged, this is much bigger than a marital financial dispute.”
Click here to continue reading: PART 7: My Name Appeared on a Loan I Never Signed, and the Explanation Gavin Gave Me Made the Missing Money Even Harder to Understand
The Card Hit the Floor, But the Question That Followed Was Far More Expensive Than the Ultrasound
Part 6 of 20
