PART 4
“The passport in his pocket is mine!” I shouted.
The officer holding my arm stopped.
Daniel’s hand immediately covered the dark blue booklet protruding from his coat.
Agent Sloan turned toward him.
“Mr. Whitaker, remove your hand.”
Daniel hesitated.
“Now.”
He slowly pulled out the passport.
For the first time that night, genuine panic crossed his face.
“I was bringing it to Claire,” he said.
I almost laughed.
“You were bringing my passport to me while I was standing ten feet away?”
“I found it in the office.”
“My passport is locked inside the safe.”
Agent Sloan took the booklet from him and examined it beneath the porch light.
The photograph was mine.
The name was mine.
The date of birth was mine.
But when she turned to the identification page, her eyebrows drew together.
“When was your passport issued?” she asked.
“Five years ago.”
“This one was issued eight days ago.”
Daniel’s eyes shifted toward the driveway.
Agent Sloan noticed.
“Mr. Whitaker, place your hands where I can see them.”
“I didn’t create that.”
“Then why was it in your pocket?”
“Claire must have put it there.”
I stared at him.
“You’re blaming me for putting a fake passport in your coat while I was being handcuffed?”
“You’ve been setting me up for months.”
The ease with which he said it frightened me.
He did not stumble.
He did not hesitate.
He had practiced this version of the story.
Agent Sloan handed the passport to another officer.
“Bag it.”
Daniel’s voice rose.
“You’re making a mistake. Claire controls the accounts. She owns the company. The messages are on her phone.”
“And the passport was in your pocket,” Agent Sloan replied.
“That proves nothing.”
“It proves you’re staying here.”
One officer stepped toward Daniel.
His face hardened.
“You’re not arresting me.”
“Not yet.”
“Then I’m leaving.”
“No one is leaving this property until we finish securing the evidence.”
Victor stood near the fireplace with his arms folded.
Robert and Linda sat on the couch.
Megan remained in the kitchen with an officer.
Marcus Bell, Victor’s attorney, was speaking quietly into his phone near the front window.
I watched all of them.
Every person in the house had a reason to lie.
Every person had known something I didn’t.
And somewhere outside, another woman might already be carrying identification with my name.
The officer guided me toward the police car.
Daniel called after me.
“Claire!”
I turned.
His expression softened.
For a moment, he looked like the man I had married.
The man who used to leave coffee beside my bed on Saturday mornings.
The man who held my hand at my grandmother’s funeral.
The man who told me he would never let anyone take advantage of me.
“Tell them the truth,” he said.
I stared at him.
“I plan to.”
His smile disappeared.
The interrogation room had no windows.
A metal table was bolted to the floor. Two chairs faced each other beneath a fluorescent light that hummed loudly enough to make concentration difficult.
My handcuffs had been removed, but the red marks around my wrists remained.
Agent Sloan entered carrying three folders, my phone and a paper cup of water.
She placed the water in front of me.
“I want an attorney,” I said.
“That is your right.”
“I also want my parents notified.”
“We can arrange that.”
“My mother recently had a heart procedure. Don’t tell her I’ve been arrested without explaining that my identity was stolen.”
Agent Sloan sat across from me.
“I cannot tell your mother that as a confirmed fact.”
“It is a fact.”
“It is your statement.”
I leaned forward.
“Then verify it.”
“That is what we are doing.”
“Start with the passport.”
“We are.”
“My real passport is inside the safe in my bedroom closet.”
“What is the code?”
“I changed it six months ago. The code is 041917.”
“What does that number mean?”
“My grandmother’s birthday.”
She wrote it down.
“Does your husband know the new code?”
“No.”
“Does anyone else?”
“No.”
“Where is the key?”
“On my car key ring.”
Agent Sloan looked at me.
“Your car keys were on the dresser beside your husband’s keys.”
My stomach tightened.
Daniel had access to the key.
But if my real passport was still inside, the one in his pocket had to be a duplicate or counterfeit.
“Open the safe,” I said. “You’ll find my original passport.”
“If we find it, that helps establish that the second document may be fraudulent.”
“May be?”
“It does not establish who created it.”
“He was carrying it.”
“He claims he found it.”
“He also claims I opened a company I had never heard of.”
Agent Sloan opened the first folder.
“Let’s discuss that company.”
“No. Let’s discuss how Daniel recorded my face two days ago.”
Her eyes sharpened.
“What do you mean?”
“He told me he was testing a camera feature. He asked me to turn my head, blink and smile.”
“When?”
“Saturday evening. Around seven.”
“Where?”
“In our kitchen.”
“Was anyone else present?”
“No.”
“Did you see what application he was using?”
“No.”
“What kind of phone?”
“His phone.”
“The phone we collected from him?”
“Yes.”
“No banking applications were installed.”
“He deleted them.”
“We are examining the device.”
“He could have used the video to pass facial verification.”
“Possibly.”
“And he could have used my fingerprint while I was asleep.”
Agent Sloan stopped writing.
“Why would you think that?”
“Because the banking application on my phone was unlocked with my fingerprint, but I never installed it.”
“Your husband knows your phone’s passcode.”
“He used to.”
“When did you change it?”
“Three months ago.”
“Why?”
I hesitated.
“Because he kept reading messages between my mother and me.”
“What were the messages about?”
“Her medical expenses. She was embarrassed and didn’t want Daniel to know everything.”
“But your husband may have learned your new code.”
“Possibly.”
Agent Sloan closed the folder.
“You understand the difficulty here.”
“No. I understand that you have evidence carefully designed to point toward me.”
“That evidence includes your personal information, your face, your fingerprint and your device.”
“Exactly.”
“You think that makes you look innocent?”
“I think it proves whoever did this had intimate access to my life.”
She studied me for several seconds.
“Who had that level of access?”
“My husband.”
“Anyone else?”
“His family.”
“Your mother-in-law admitted entering your home.”
“She broke into my home while I was attending my grandmother’s funeral.”
“She claims Daniel gave her permission.”
“He could not give her permission to steal my documents.”
“Did you report the break-in?”
“I didn’t know it happened until tonight.”
“What about the missing earrings?”
“I believed I had misplaced them.”
“You never suspected Linda?”
“I didn’t want to suspect my husband’s mother.”
Agent Sloan leaned back.
“You trusted these people.”
“Yes.”
“Even after paying their expenses for three years?”
“I thought helping them was part of being married.”
“And when your husband refused to help your parents, you stopped the payments.”
“Yes.”
“Thirty days later, everything collapsed.”
“Yes.”
“That timing could also suggest you knew the scheme was failing and tried to distance yourself.”
I stared at her.
“That is what Daniel wants you to believe.”
“Perhaps.”
“You heard Megan. She admitted notarizing forged documents.”
“She admitted notarizing documents without you present. She claims she believed you had signed them earlier.”
“That is still illegal.”
“Yes.”
“Linda admitted stealing my Social Security card.”
“She admitted retrieving it.”
“Through my bedroom window.”
“She claims she believed Daniel had authority to request it.”
I felt my anger rising.
“Are you defending them?”
“I am showing you what their attorneys will argue.”
“They don’t have attorneys.”
“They will.”
I looked at the mirrored wall.
Daniel might have been in the room on the other side.
He might have been watching me.
Learning what I remembered.
Preparing his next lie.
“I want to know whether my husband has been arrested.”
“He is being questioned.”
“What about Robert?”
“Questioned.”
“Linda?”
“Questioned.”
“Megan?”
“Questioned.”
“And Victor?”
“Giving a statement.”
“Why does he get to give a statement while I’m treated like a criminal?”
“Because four hundred thousand dollars of his money entered a company registered in your name.”
“Or he claims it did.”
Agent Sloan’s expression changed slightly.
It was small, but I saw it.
“You don’t completely believe him,” I said.
“I did not say that.”
“You didn’t need to.”
She gathered the folders.
“Your attorney can be present for any further formal questioning.”
She stood.
“Wait.”
She paused at the door.
“There is a way to prove I wasn’t at the bank when the account was opened.”
“How?”
“You said the company was created six months ago.”
“Yes.”
“My grandmother died six months ago. Daniel told Linda to enter our house during the funeral.”
“What date?”
“January seventeenth.”
Agent Sloan checked the folder.
“The business account was opened January seventeenth at 2:36 p.m.”
“I was at the cemetery.”
“Do you have proof?”
“There were more than eighty people at the funeral. The cemetery has cameras. The funeral home recorded the service for relatives who couldn’t travel.”
She wrote quickly.
“What time did the burial begin?”
“Two o’clock.”
“Where?”
“Salem.”
The bank branch was in Portland.
More than forty miles away.
Even if the burial ended immediately, I could not have been inside the bank at 2:36.
Agent Sloan sat down again.
“Who knew the time of the funeral?”
“Daniel. His entire family.”
“Was Daniel with you?”
I thought back.
He had stood beside me during the service.
He had held my hand when the casket was lowered.
But after the burial, he disappeared for nearly an hour.
He claimed his employer had called about an emergency.
“He was at the cemetery at two,” I said. “But he left shortly afterward.”
“What time?”
“I don’t know.”
“Could he have reached Portland by 2:36?”
“No.”
“Then someone else opened the account.”
“Vanessa.”
“Your husband’s assistant?”
“Megan said there was a passport for her.”
Agent Sloan opened a different folder.
“Megan has now identified Vanessa Cole as the woman Daniel planned to leave the country with.”
“Has Vanessa been located?”
“Not yet.”
“She impersonated me at the bank.”
“That is your theory.”
“She has my height. Similar hair. Daniel could have given her my coat, my license and my documents.”
“The bank footage shows a woman whose face is partially covered.”
“Because it wasn’t me.”
Agent Sloan looked toward the door.
Then she pressed a button on the wall.
“Bring in the still photographs from the branch.”
A few minutes later, an officer entered carrying an evidence envelope.
Agent Sloan removed six enlarged photographs.
The first showed the woman walking toward the bank entrance.
She wore my navy winter coat.
I recognized the missing button near the left pocket.
The coat had vanished after my grandmother’s funeral.
Daniel told me it must have been accidentally donated with old clothes.
The second image showed the woman standing at the counter.
Dark glasses covered her eyes.
A scarf covered her neck and lower jaw.
The third showed her signing a document.
I looked at her right hand.
“Zoom in.”
Agent Sloan placed the photograph closer.
“What do you see?”
“The ring.”
The woman wore a thin silver ring on her index finger.
Vanessa wore that ring every day.
I had seen it during company dinners, holiday parties and video calls when she interrupted Daniel late at night.
“It’s Vanessa.”
“A silver ring is not proof.”
“Look at her wrist.”
A small dark mark appeared beneath the sleeve.
“Vanessa has a tattoo there. A crescent moon.”
Agent Sloan took the photograph and left the room.
I sat alone for what felt like an hour.
It was probably less than ten minutes.
When she returned, she carried no folder.
Her voice had changed.
“We confirmed that Vanessa Cole has a crescent-moon tattoo on her right wrist.”
Relief rushed through me.
“So you believe me.”
“I believe she may be the woman in the footage.”
“That means I didn’t open the account.”
“It means you were not physically present when it was opened.”
“That is the same thing.”
“Not necessarily. You could have authorized another person to open it.”
I slammed my palm against the table.
“I was burying my grandmother!”
“And grief does not legally establish innocence.”
I stood.
“Then check the recording. Check the cemetery. Check my location history. Check the messages Daniel sent Vanessa.”
“We are doing all of those things.”
The door opened again.
A uniformed officer leaned toward Agent Sloan and whispered something.
She frowned.
“When?”
The officer answered quietly.
Agent Sloan turned to me.
“Sit down.”
“What happened?”
“Sit down, Claire.”
I did.
She placed my phone on the table.
“Our forensic technician found that the banking application was installed on your device four nights ago at 2:14 a.m.”
“I was asleep.”
“The application was opened with your fingerprint.”
“Daniel used my hand.”
“That is possible.”
“Check where his phone was.”
“Both devices were connected to your home network.”
“He was beside me.”
“There is more.”
She opened a report.
“At 2:19 a.m., a video file was transferred from Daniel’s phone to yours.”
“The facial-recognition video.”
“We believe so.”
“And the messages?”
“The encrypted messaging application was installed during the same period.”
I felt a surge of hope.
“That proves he planted it.”
“It proves applications were installed while both phones were inside your home.”
“While I was asleep.”
“We need evidence that you were asleep.”
I stared at her.
“How am I supposed to prove I was sleeping?”
She didn’t answer.
Then I remembered.
“My watch.”
“What?”
“My fitness watch records my sleep.”
“Where is it?”
“On my wrist.”
The officer who arrested me had placed it inside my property bag.
Agent Sloan requested the bag.
When it arrived, I unlocked the watch and opened the health application.
The sleep record showed that I had fallen asleep at 11:08 p.m.
My heart rate remained low and steady until 6:32 a.m.
At 2:14, when the banking application was installed, I was in deep sleep.
Agent Sloan examined the graph.
“This helps.”
“Helps?”
“It does not prove someone used your finger.”
“But it proves I wasn’t awake installing applications and sending messages.”
“It strongly suggests that.”
“Then arrest Daniel.”
“We need more than a sleep record.”
The door opened again.
This time, another agent entered.
He handed Sloan a document.
She read it once.
Then again.
“What?” I asked.
“The officers opened your safe.”
“And?”
“Your original passport was inside.”
I closed my eyes.
The relief was so powerful that I nearly cried.
“There were also two sealed envelopes containing your grandmother’s estate documents.”
“I know.”
“And a flash drive.”
My eyes opened.
“What flash drive?”
Agent Sloan watched me carefully.
“You’re saying you didn’t know it was there?”
“No.”
“It was taped beneath the top shelf.”
“I’ve never seen it.”
“Who had access to the safe before you changed the code?”
“Daniel.”
“And Linda had the key during the funeral.”
“Yes.”
Agent Sloan placed the report on the table.
“The original passport confirms the document found in Daniel’s pocket was a second passport.”
“Fake?”
“Not exactly.”
“What does that mean?”
“The passport appears genuine.”
“That’s impossible.”
“It contains an authentic government chip and valid security features.”
“Then someone issued two passports in my name.”
“Only one appears in the official system.”
“Which one?”
“The newer one.”
My breath caught.
“The fake passport replaced my real one?”
“According to the database, the document in your safe was reported lost eight days ago. A replacement was issued through an expedited process.”
“I never reported it lost.”
“Someone did.”
“Vanessa.”
“Possibly.”
“What did they use to verify my identity?”
Agent Sloan hesitated.
“An emergency passport appointment was completed by video.”
Daniel’s recording.
He had used my face again.
“The replacement passport is valid,” she continued. “Your original document was canceled.”
“So Vanessa can legally travel under my name.”
“She can attempt to.”
I stood again.
“You need to stop her.”
“We issued an alert.”
“When?”
“Fourteen minutes ago.”
“That’s not enough.”
“Every airport and border crossing now has the passport number.”
I paced the small room.
Daniel and Vanessa had prepared this carefully.
The forged company.
The fake messages.
The phone applications.
The replacement passport.
Even if Daniel was arrested, Vanessa could leave with the money.
“What about the $300,000?” I asked.
“We are tracing it.”
“Daniel said they were converting it into digital assets.”
“The transfer was divided.”
“Where?”
“Several wallets.”
“Who controls them?”
“We don’t know.”
“You must know something.”
Agent Sloan closed the report.
“One transfer required a physical security key.”
“What is that?”
“A small device used to approve transactions.”
“Did you find one?”
“Not in your home.”
“Search Daniel.”
“We did.”
“And?”
“Nothing.”
“Robert?”
“Nothing.”
“Linda?”
“Nothing.”
“Megan?”
“Nothing.”
“Victor and Marcus?”
“They arrived as witnesses, not suspects.”
“So you didn’t search them.”
Agent Sloan’s expression hardened.
“Victor Hale claims to be a victim.”
“Victims can lie.”
“Why would he help Daniel steal his own investment?”
“Maybe the investment never existed.”
“We have records showing the money came from an account connected to Victor.”
“Connected how?”
She did not answer.
I remembered how Victor had appeared at exactly the right time.
How he knew the amount Daniel had tried to withdraw.
How his attorney immediately explained the legal consequences.
How calm both men remained while everyone else panicked.
“How did Victor know Daniel tried to transfer $187,000 from our savings?” I asked.
“Daniel told him.”
“When?”
“We’re reviewing the communications.”
“Daniel’s phone had no banking applications or messages.”
“Deleted data can be recovered.”
“But Victor arrived before the withdrawal was denied.”
Agent Sloan looked at me.
“What makes you think that?”
“He said Daniel had promised him access to $187,000 tonight.”
“That could have happened earlier.”
“No. Daniel only discovered the account was restricted when he came home.”
“Are you certain?”
“He was furious because the transfer failed.”
“That is your interpretation.”
I leaned closer.
“Check the timestamps.”
She remained silent.
“The withdrawal request was submitted that afternoon,” I continued. “Victor arrived before midnight knowing the exact amount. Either Daniel contacted him through another device, or Victor was watching the account himself.”
Agent Sloan picked up her phone.
She made a call and spoke quietly for several minutes.
Then she left the room.
This time, she was gone much longer.
When she returned, two officers were with her.
“Claire, come with us.”
“Am I still under arrest?”
“You are still being detained.”
“That isn’t an answer.”
“We received an alert from Portland International Airport.”
My heart began racing.
“Vanessa?”
“A woman presented the replacement passport issued in your name.”
“Did they stop her?”
“Airport security detained her at the departure gate.”
Relief washed over me.
“She has the money.”
“We don’t know that.”
“She has the security key.”
“We will search her.”
“Where was she going?”
“Mexico City, with a connecting flight listed afterward.”
“To Costa Rica?”
“No onward destination was attached to the reservation.”
“Was she alone?”
Agent Sloan exchanged a glance with the officers.
“No.”
“Daniel?”
“Daniel is still here.”
“Then who?”
“We are going to show you an image.”
They led me into a larger room with several monitors mounted on the wall.
Daniel sat behind glass in a nearby interview room.
His coat had been removed.
Robert and Linda were separated.
Megan sat with an attorney and appeared to be giving a statement.
Victor stood near the far wall, speaking to another agent.
I searched for Marcus.
He was gone.
Agent Sloan noticed.
“Where is Victor’s attorney?” I asked.
“He left after providing identification.”
“When?”
“Approximately thirty minutes ago.”
A technician enlarged an airport security image.
The woman in the photograph wore a blonde wig, glasses and my navy coat.
Even with the disguise, I recognized Vanessa.
She stood beside a man wearing a baseball cap.
His face was turned away from the camera.
“Show the next frame,” Agent Sloan said.
The image changed.
The man looked toward the security officer.
I stopped breathing.
It was Marcus Bell.
Victor’s attorney.
“He’s with her.”
“Yes.”
“Then Victor isn’t a victim.”
Victor turned toward us from across the room.
He could not see the monitor from where he stood.
Agent Sloan lowered her voice.
“Marcus Bell’s identification was false.”
“Is he even an attorney?”
“We contacted the state bar. There is no attorney licensed under that name matching his information.”
“Who is he?”
“We don’t know yet.”
I looked at Victor again.
“He brought him into my house.”
Agent Sloan signaled to two agents.
They moved toward Victor.
He watched them approach, then calmly placed his phone on the table.
“Mr. Hale,” one agent said, “we need you to remain here.”
“Of course.”
“Do you know a man calling himself Marcus Bell?”
“He is my attorney.”
“No, he isn’t.”
Victor’s face did not change.
Agent Sloan stepped closer.
“Your attorney is currently being detained at the airport with Vanessa Cole.”
For the first time, Victor looked surprised.
But the reaction lasted less than a second.
Then he smiled.
“Interesting.”
“Place your hands behind your back.”
“Am I under arrest?”
“You are being detained pending investigation.”
Victor slowly complied.
As the agents searched him, Daniel began pounding on the glass from the interview room.
“Don’t let him leave!” he shouted.
Agent Sloan opened the door.
Daniel pointed at Victor.
“He has it.”
Victor’s smile vanished.
“Has what?” Agent Sloan asked.
“The security key.”
The room went silent.
Victor shook his head.
“Daniel is desperate.”
“He controlled the wallets,” Daniel said. “I only moved the money where he told me.”
I stared at him.
Minutes earlier, Daniel had tried to frame me.
Now he was turning on Victor.
“Search his watch,” Daniel shouted. “The key is inside the band.”
An agent removed Victor’s watch.
The leather band seemed ordinary.
But when the agent pressed the metal clasp, a tiny black device slid free.
Agent Sloan held it beneath the light.
The physical security key.
Victor’s expression finally broke.
“You don’t understand,” he said.
Daniel laughed from behind the glass.
“Now you’re the one saying that.”
Agent Sloan ordered Victor moved into a secure interview room.
As the agents led him away, he turned toward me.
His eyes were no longer tired or frightened.
They were cold.
“You should have kept paying the $2,500,” he said.
I froze.
“How do you know about that?”
He smiled again.
“The monthly payments were never for Daniel’s family.”
Robert lowered his head.
Linda began crying.
Agent Sloan stepped between us.
“What were they for?”
Victor said nothing.
Daniel struck the glass.
“Don’t listen to him!”
I moved toward Robert.
“You told me the extra money went into your investment.”
He stared at the floor.
“Robert.”
“It did.”
“An investment with Victor?”
Robert nodded.
“How long have you known him?”
“Four years.”
Four years.
The mortgage had been refinanced four years earlier.
The fraudulent company had been created only six months ago.
This had started long before Daniel stole my grandmother’s inheritance.
“What was the first investment?” I asked.
Robert’s lips trembled.
“I can’t tell you.”
Agent Sloan stepped closer.
“You will tell us.”
Robert looked toward Daniel.
Then Victor.
Then me.
“The first money didn’t come from Claire.”
“Whose money was it?”
He closed his eyes.
“Her grandmother’s.”
I felt the floor shift beneath me.
“My grandmother?”
“She found something in her accounts.”
“What?”
Robert looked terrified.
“She discovered that money had been taken from a trust she created for Claire.”
I could barely speak.
“What trust?”
Daniel shouted through the glass.
“Dad, stop!”
Robert continued anyway.
“Your grandmother confronted Victor. She threatened to report everything.”
Agent Sloan looked toward the evidence technician.
“The flash drive found in Claire’s safe.”
Robert nodded.
“She kept records.”
I stared at Daniel.
“You knew?”
He said nothing.
“Did you marry me because of my grandmother’s money?”
His silence answered me.
The room became painfully quiet.
My entire marriage rearranged itself in my mind.
Daniel meeting me shortly after I began managing my grandmother’s rental property.
Daniel insisting we combine finances.
Daniel encouraging me to trust his father with investments.
Daniel’s sudden interest whenever my grandmother discussed her estate.
This had not begun when my mother needed medical help.
It had not begun when I stopped sending $2,500.
It had begun before our wedding.
Agent Sloan ordered the flash drive brought into the room.
A technician connected it to an isolated computer.
Several folders appeared.
Bank records.
Property documents.
Audio files.
Photographs.
And one video labeled:
FOR CLAIRE—PLAY THIS FIRST
My hands began shaking.
“That’s my grandmother’s handwriting.”
The technician opened the video.
My grandmother appeared on the screen, sitting at the desk in her small rental house.
She looked tired.
Frightened.
But her voice was steady.
“Claire, if you are watching this, then I was unable to tell you the truth myself.”
I covered my mouth.
Daniel stopped pounding on the glass.
My grandmother continued.
“There is money in your name that you have never been told about. It was placed in trust when you were a child.”
I looked at Agent Sloan.
“What money?”
The video continued.
“Someone has been stealing from that trust for years. I believed it was an outside financial adviser. I was wrong.”
My grandmother lifted a photograph toward the camera.
The image showed three men standing together outside a bank.
Robert.
Victor.
And a third man.
The third man was younger than the others.
But I recognized him immediately.
My father.
My sick, retired father.
The man I had redirected $1,500 a month to help.
My grandmother’s voice broke through the silence.
“Claire, your father helped them.”
I stumbled backward.
“No.”
On the screen, my grandmother began to cry.
“And Daniel knows everything.”
Every person in the room looked toward my husband.
He stood behind the glass, completely still.
Then the airport technician called Agent Sloan’s phone.
She answered.
Her face changed as she listened.
“What do you mean she wasn’t Vanessa?”
I turned sharply.
Agent Sloan placed the call on speaker.
The airport officer spoke quickly.
“We removed the wig and glasses. The detained woman is not Vanessa Cole.”
“Then who is she?” Agent Sloan asked.
“We ran her fingerprints.”
A pause followed.
“The woman traveling under Claire Whitaker’s passport is registered as Elaine Harper.”
My heart stopped.
Elaine Harper was my mother’s maiden name.
Agent Sloan slowly looked at me.
The officer continued.
“She says she is Claire’s mother.”
My mother had not been recovering at home.
She had been at the airport carrying my passport, traveling with a fake attorney and trying to disappear with the stolen money.
Then the officer said something that shattered the last piece of my life.
“She also says Claire’s father is already out of the country.”…………………………..
LAST PART…
TO BE CONTINUED IN LAST PART…
