Lies on the Share Certificate
Language: en
“Ma’am, your husband completed the equity transfer registration yesterday. You now own zero shares.” The lawyer slid the corporate registration documents toward me and pointed to the signature on the last page. The three wildly scrawled characters were obviously not in my handwriting. I stared at the page, my mind going blank for three seconds. That was the company we had built over seven years, the company I had nearly worked myself to death for. Thirty-five percent of the shares, valued according to the latest round of financing, was worth twenty-eight million. And now, it belonged to my…
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1
“Ma’am, your husband completed the equity transfer registration yesterday. You now own zero shares.”
The lawyer slid the corporate registration documents toward me and pointed to the signature on the last page.
The three wildly scrawled characters were obviously not in my handwriting.
I stared at the page, my mind going blank for three seconds.
That was the company we had built over seven years, the company I had nearly worked myself to death for.
Thirty-five percent of the shares, valued according to the latest round of financing, was worth twenty-eight million.
And now, it belonged to my husband’s first love.
The woman who had once dumped him for being poor, gone abroad, and married a foreigner.
When my best friend sent me a photo, I was feeding my daughter some baby food.
In the photo, my husband, Ethan, was having dinner with a woman at a restaurant in Hudson Yards.
The woman wore a beige trench coat, her long hair falling over her shoulders, and she smiled sweetly. A cake sat in front of her, with candles shaped like the number “18.”
The caption contained only one sentence:
“Guess who I ran into at Hudson Yards today? Your husband is celebrating Madison’s birthday.”
Madison.
Ethan’s college ex-girlfriend.
The woman who had dumped him after graduation and moved to Canada.
She had just gotten divorced and returned home last month.
As I stared at the photo, my hand trembled, and the spoon fell to the floor.
My daughter began to cry.
I picked her up and soothed her, while one thought raced through my mind.
Last week, Ethan had told me the company needed to increase its capital and expand its shareholding, and that I needed to sign some paperwork.
He brought a thick stack of contracts to the street outside my office and had me flip to the last page and sign it in the car.
When I said I wanted to read the contents, he told me, “They’re all standard clauses. The lawyer has already reviewed them. If you’re worried, take them home and read them carefully.”
I took them home.
But my daughter had a fever that day, and I cared for her until three in the morning before rushing to a project presentation first thing the next day, so I left the contract on my desk without even opening it.
When I returned home last night, I realized it was gone.
I asked Ethan about it, and he said, “Since you didn’t sign it, I withdrew it. I’ll prepare another copy.”
I hadn’t thought much of it at the time.
But now, looking at the photo of Madison blowing out her candles, I heard a loud buzz in my head.
That contract had nothing to do with increasing capital or expanding the shareholding.
It was an equity transfer agreement.
He had wanted me to transfer the shares I owned in the company to Madison.
My name is Claire. I’m thirty-two years old, and I’ve been married to Ethan for five years. We have a two-year-old daughter.
We got together during our senior year of college.
After graduation, I joined an internet company in operations, while he took the civil service exam twice and failed both times. Later, he went to work in sales for a small private company. His salary was low, but he was charming and knew how to make people happy.
My mother told me, “It doesn’t matter if a man is poor, as long as he treats you well.”
When I thought about it, I agreed, and I married him.
The first two years of our marriage were painfully tight.
We rented a partitioned room in an old neighborhood downtown. A programmer with insomnia lived next door and pounded on his keyboard until two every morning. Ethan and I didn’t even dare speak loudly.
The turning point came in the third year of our marriage.
One of my college classmates started a cross-border e-commerce business and asked me to become a partner.
I hesitated for a long time because I would have to quit my stable job, and Ethan didn’t support me much either. He said, “Starting a business is risky. Why are you, of all people, running around trying to make something happen?”
But I went anyway.
The three of us became partners, and each of us contributed our own startup funds.
I invested all the $15,000 I had saved and borrowed another $10,000 from my mother.
My mother transferred the money without a second thought and said, “As long as it makes you happy.”
The first two years, we truly fought for our lives.
I was in charge of the supply chain, running to factories every day, bargaining with suppliers, and keeping an eye on quality.
Once, to meet a shipment deadline, I stayed away for an entire month. When I came home, my daughter didn’t even recognize me.
My partner, Victor, called me “the toughest woman alive.”
When I was hospitalized with a bleeding ulcer, I was still answering client messages while hooked up to an IV.
But the results didn’t let us down.
In our fourth year, we secured Series B financing, and the company’s valuation passed $100 million.
Based on the price from the latest financing round, my shares were worth $28 million.
The lawyer slid the corporate registration documents toward me and pointed to the signature on the last page.
The three wildly scrawled characters were obviously not in my handwriting.
I stared at the page, my mind going blank for three seconds.
That was the company we had built over seven years, the company I had nearly worked myself to death for.
Thirty-five percent of the shares, valued according to the latest round of financing, was worth twenty-eight million.
And now, it belonged to my husband’s first love.
The woman who had once dumped him for being poor, gone abroad, and married a foreigner.
When my best friend sent me a photo, I was feeding my daughter some baby food.
In the photo, my husband, Ethan, was having dinner with a woman at a restaurant in Hudson Yards.
The woman wore a beige trench coat, her long hair falling over her shoulders, and she smiled sweetly. A cake sat in front of her, with candles shaped like the number “18.”
The caption contained only one sentence:
“Guess who I ran into at Hudson Yards today? Your husband is celebrating Madison’s birthday.”
Madison.
Ethan’s college ex-girlfriend.
The woman who had dumped him after graduation and moved to Canada.
She had just gotten divorced and returned home last month.
As I stared at the photo, my hand trembled, and the spoon fell to the floor.
My daughter began to cry.
I picked her up and soothed her, while one thought raced through my mind.
Last week, Ethan had told me the company needed to increase its capital and expand its shareholding, and that I needed to sign some paperwork.
He brought a thick stack of contracts to the street outside my office and had me flip to the last page and sign it in the car.
When I said I wanted to read the contents, he told me, “They’re all standard clauses. The lawyer has already reviewed them. If you’re worried, take them home and read them carefully.”
I took them home.
But my daughter had a fever that day, and I cared for her until three in the morning before rushing to a project presentation first thing the next day, so I left the contract on my desk without even opening it.
When I returned home last night, I realized it was gone.
I asked Ethan about it, and he said, “Since you didn’t sign it, I withdrew it. I’ll prepare another copy.”
I hadn’t thought much of it at the time.
But now, looking at the photo of Madison blowing out her candles, I heard a loud buzz in my head.
That contract had nothing to do with increasing capital or expanding the shareholding.
It was an equity transfer agreement.
He had wanted me to transfer the shares I owned in the company to Madison.
My name is Claire. I’m thirty-two years old, and I’ve been married to Ethan for five years. We have a two-year-old daughter.
We got together during our senior year of college.
After graduation, I joined an internet company in operations, while he took the civil service exam twice and failed both times. Later, he went to work in sales for a small private company. His salary was low, but he was charming and knew how to make people happy.
My mother told me, “It doesn’t matter if a man is poor, as long as he treats you well.”
When I thought about it, I agreed, and I married him.
The first two years of our marriage were painfully tight.
We rented a partitioned room in an old neighborhood downtown. A programmer with insomnia lived next door and pounded on his keyboard until two every morning. Ethan and I didn’t even dare speak loudly.
The turning point came in the third year of our marriage.
One of my college classmates started a cross-border e-commerce business and asked me to become a partner.
I hesitated for a long time because I would have to quit my stable job, and Ethan didn’t support me much either. He said, “Starting a business is risky. Why are you, of all people, running around trying to make something happen?”
But I went anyway.
The three of us became partners, and each of us contributed our own startup funds.
I invested all the $15,000 I had saved and borrowed another $10,000 from my mother.
My mother transferred the money without a second thought and said, “As long as it makes you happy.”
The first two years, we truly fought for our lives.
I was in charge of the supply chain, running to factories every day, bargaining with suppliers, and keeping an eye on quality.
Once, to meet a shipment deadline, I stayed away for an entire month. When I came home, my daughter didn’t even recognize me.
My partner, Victor, called me “the toughest woman alive.”
When I was hospitalized with a bleeding ulcer, I was still answering client messages while hooked up to an IV.
But the results didn’t let us down.
In our fourth year, we secured Series B financing, and the company’s valuation passed $100 million.
Based on the price from the latest financing round, my shares were worth $28 million.
2
My first thought after getting the money wasn’t to buy myself a purse. It was to replace Ethan’s car.
He drove a used Honda whose air conditioner had been broken for three years. Driving it in the summer felt like sitting inside a sauna.
I bought him a Mercedes. The moment he sat in the driver’s seat, his eyes turned red, and he told me, “Thank you, sweetheart.”
At the time, I felt that everything had been worth it.
But I didn’t know that while I was hospitalized and hooked up to an IV, Ethan had contacted Madison through a friend.
Madison had been his goddess in college, the belle of the foreign-language department. It had taken him two years to win her over.
The year they graduated, Madison received her Canadian immigration visa and left without hesitation.
Ethan told me they had broken up amicably,
but later, I heard from one of their mutual friends
that on the day Madison left, Ethan drank an entire bottle of red wine in the dorm and threw up all night.
He had never deleted her contact information.
I didn’t know when they had started talking again.
But I guessed it had been while I was hospitalized with my bleeding ulcer.
I spent every day either receiving an IV or sleeping, with barely enough energy to speak to him.
He came to the hospital every day, stayed for ten minutes, and left, saying, “Get some rest. Don’t worry about things at home.”
At the time, I thought he was being considerate.
Now that I thought about it, he had probably been rushing off to keep someone else company.
The truth didn’t come out because of that photo.
The photo was the fuse, but it wasn’t the explosive.
The real explosive was what I found when I checked the accounts.
Our company’s financial director was a woman everyone called Ms. Rivera. I had hired her, and she had always treated me well.
That day, she called me, her voice lowered.
“Claire, are you handling an equity transfer lately?”
I said no.
She asked, “Then why did someone come to the company last week with your power of attorney and a copy of your identification documents, asking to access your equity records?”
The blood rushed straight to my head.
I asked who it was.
Ms. Rivera said, “A woman who claimed to be your authorized representative. Your name was signed on the power of attorney, but the handwriting looked strange to me, so I told her I needed to verify it with you personally and sent her away.”
I hung up and immediately called Ethan.
He didn’t answer.
I called again, but he still didn’t answer.
I drove home, checking the security-camera footage from our house on the way.
There was a camera in our entryway. Ethan had said he installed it “for safety,” but now it seemed more likely he had wanted to monitor what time I came home.
I went through the footage from the previous week.
At two in the afternoon on Wednesday, Ethan brought a woman home.
The woman wore a mask and a hat, so I couldn’t see her face clearly.
They stayed in the living room for half an hour, and Ethan took something from the safe in his study and handed it to her.
As she left, the woman changed her shoes in the entryway and briefly removed her hat.
I took a screenshot and enlarged it.
It was Madison.
I sat in the car for a long time.
Then I picked up my phone and searched for information about Madison after her return.
Someone had posted photos of her attending an alumni gathering on Instagram, with the caption, “Madison just got back from Toronto. Single and open to introductions.”
Someone had commented to ask what kind of work she did now, and she had personally replied, “I’m taking some time to rest. No rush.”
No rush.
Of course she wasn’t in a rush.
Someone was giving her money. Why would she be?
I parked in the garage and sat in the driver’s seat, going over everything in my mind.
Ethan had probably reconnected with Madison around the time I began receiving equity incentives.
He knew how many shares I owned and how much they were worth.
He had never held any position in my company, so he couldn’t get his hands on those shares.
But he could manipulate me into signing a transfer agreement.
I thought of the “capital increase and share expansion” contract from last week.
He had given it to me to sign, but I hadn’t.
So he withdrew it and forged my signature instead.
He drove a used Honda whose air conditioner had been broken for three years. Driving it in the summer felt like sitting inside a sauna.
I bought him a Mercedes. The moment he sat in the driver’s seat, his eyes turned red, and he told me, “Thank you, sweetheart.”
At the time, I felt that everything had been worth it.
But I didn’t know that while I was hospitalized and hooked up to an IV, Ethan had contacted Madison through a friend.
Madison had been his goddess in college, the belle of the foreign-language department. It had taken him two years to win her over.
The year they graduated, Madison received her Canadian immigration visa and left without hesitation.
Ethan told me they had broken up amicably,
but later, I heard from one of their mutual friends
that on the day Madison left, Ethan drank an entire bottle of red wine in the dorm and threw up all night.
He had never deleted her contact information.
I didn’t know when they had started talking again.
But I guessed it had been while I was hospitalized with my bleeding ulcer.
I spent every day either receiving an IV or sleeping, with barely enough energy to speak to him.
He came to the hospital every day, stayed for ten minutes, and left, saying, “Get some rest. Don’t worry about things at home.”
At the time, I thought he was being considerate.
Now that I thought about it, he had probably been rushing off to keep someone else company.
The truth didn’t come out because of that photo.
The photo was the fuse, but it wasn’t the explosive.
The real explosive was what I found when I checked the accounts.
Our company’s financial director was a woman everyone called Ms. Rivera. I had hired her, and she had always treated me well.
That day, she called me, her voice lowered.
“Claire, are you handling an equity transfer lately?”
I said no.
She asked, “Then why did someone come to the company last week with your power of attorney and a copy of your identification documents, asking to access your equity records?”
The blood rushed straight to my head.
I asked who it was.
Ms. Rivera said, “A woman who claimed to be your authorized representative. Your name was signed on the power of attorney, but the handwriting looked strange to me, so I told her I needed to verify it with you personally and sent her away.”
I hung up and immediately called Ethan.
He didn’t answer.
I called again, but he still didn’t answer.
I drove home, checking the security-camera footage from our house on the way.
There was a camera in our entryway. Ethan had said he installed it “for safety,” but now it seemed more likely he had wanted to monitor what time I came home.
I went through the footage from the previous week.
At two in the afternoon on Wednesday, Ethan brought a woman home.
The woman wore a mask and a hat, so I couldn’t see her face clearly.
They stayed in the living room for half an hour, and Ethan took something from the safe in his study and handed it to her.
As she left, the woman changed her shoes in the entryway and briefly removed her hat.
I took a screenshot and enlarged it.
It was Madison.
I sat in the car for a long time.
Then I picked up my phone and searched for information about Madison after her return.
Someone had posted photos of her attending an alumni gathering on Instagram, with the caption, “Madison just got back from Toronto. Single and open to introductions.”
Someone had commented to ask what kind of work she did now, and she had personally replied, “I’m taking some time to rest. No rush.”
No rush.
Of course she wasn’t in a rush.
Someone was giving her money. Why would she be?
I parked in the garage and sat in the driver’s seat, going over everything in my mind.
Ethan had probably reconnected with Madison around the time I began receiving equity incentives.
He knew how many shares I owned and how much they were worth.
He had never held any position in my company, so he couldn’t get his hands on those shares.
But he could manipulate me into signing a transfer agreement.
I thought of the “capital increase and share expansion” contract from last week.
He had given it to me to sign, but I hadn’t.
So he withdrew it and forged my signature instead.
3
Ethan came home very late that night.
It was almost midnight when he finally walked through the door.
I was sitting in the darkened living room, and he jumped when he saw me while taking off his shoes.
“Why didn’t you turn on the lights?”
“I was waiting for you.”
He paused, then walked over and sat on the couch. “What’s wrong? Why do you look so pale?”
“The contract you gave me to sign last week—what was it really?”
His expression didn’t change, but I saw his hand tighten against his knee.
“I already told you. It was paperwork for increasing the capital and expanding the shareholding.”
“Then answer me this. Why did someone take my power of attorney to the company to access my equity records?”
He was silent for two seconds.
“It might be a misunderstanding,” he said. “I had someone take care of a few formalities. Maybe they got something wrong.”
“Who handled it?”
“A friend. You don’t know him.”
“Was it a man or a woman?”
He fell silent.
I opened my phone and pulled up the photo my best friend had sent me, holding the screen out toward him.
“Ethan, who is this?”
In the photo, he and Madison sat facing each other, with the candles on the cake still glowing.
His expression changed.
He didn’t turn pale. His face turned gray.
“Did you have someone investigate me?”
I said calmly, “I didn’t investigate you. My best friend happened to run into you while eating at Hudson Yards.”
“Ethan, you were celebrating Madison’s birthday? Since when have you two been so close?”
He took a deep breath and then said something that still disgusted me whenever I remembered it.
“Madison came back from overseas, and she’s having a hard time alone. I’m just having dinner with an old classmate. What’s wrong with that?”
I let out a cold laugh. “Then explain why she took my power of attorney to my company.”
“What power of attorney? I don’t know anything about that.”
“Keep pretending. Go ahead.”
He stood up, raising his voice. “Claire, what exactly are you implying? Do you suspect something is going on between Madison and me? She dumped me back then. Do you know how much I suffered? How could I possibly still—”
“Because you never got over her.”
The moment I said it, the living room fell silent.
He didn’t deny it.
After three seconds of silence, he picked up his coat and slammed the door behind him.
I didn’t chase after him. I sat on the couch and saved the recording of our conversation.
Ever since I found the photo of Madison, I had kept call recording turned on.
It wasn’t because I was scheming.
It was because my instincts told me this time was different.
Early the next morning, I went to see my lawyer.
Her name was Ms. Parker. She was the long-term legal counsel for our company, and we had worked together for years. I trusted her.
I told her everything from beginning to end.
The shares, the power of attorney, Madison, and Ethan’s reaction.
After listening, Ms. Parker’s expression became very serious.
“Claire, I’ll be honest with you. I’ve seen plenty of cases like yours. A man cheating isn’t the scariest part. The scary part is when he also starts moving your assets.”
“I know.”
“If he forged your signature, and that’s confirmed, it’s a criminal offense.”
“Can it be proven?”
“Yes, as long as you’re willing to burn the bridge.”
I was silent for a few seconds.
“He already burned it. What am I still protecting?”
Ms. Parker nodded and took a stack of forms from her drawer. “Then I’ll give you a list. First, go to the business registry and obtain the company’s registration-change records from the past three months to see whether anything unusual happened. Second, I’ll send a letter from the firm to the company demanding the original documents containing all equity-related signatures. Third, go home and secure all important identification documents, property deeds, and bank records, and change every password.”
“Could he have moved other assets of mine already?”
“We won’t know until we check.”
When I left the law firm, the sky had turned cloudy.
I sat in my car for a while, then called my mother.
“Mom, could you take care of my daughter for a few days? I have something to deal with.”
My mother could hear that something was wrong in my voice. “What happened? Did you and Ethan have a fight?”
“It’s not a fight. We might be getting divorced.”
There was silence on the other end for several seconds.
Then my mother said, “All right. Take care of what you need to. Don’t worry about your daughter. I’ll take care of her. Don’t be scared. Mom’s here.”
I hung up, and the tears finally fell.
They weren’t for Ethan.
They were for me.
Seven years together and five years of marriage—I had worked myself to the bone to support our family, only to discover that he had been thinking about another woman.
It was almost midnight when he finally walked through the door.
I was sitting in the darkened living room, and he jumped when he saw me while taking off his shoes.
“Why didn’t you turn on the lights?”
“I was waiting for you.”
He paused, then walked over and sat on the couch. “What’s wrong? Why do you look so pale?”
“The contract you gave me to sign last week—what was it really?”
His expression didn’t change, but I saw his hand tighten against his knee.
“I already told you. It was paperwork for increasing the capital and expanding the shareholding.”
“Then answer me this. Why did someone take my power of attorney to the company to access my equity records?”
He was silent for two seconds.
“It might be a misunderstanding,” he said. “I had someone take care of a few formalities. Maybe they got something wrong.”
“Who handled it?”
“A friend. You don’t know him.”
“Was it a man or a woman?”
He fell silent.
I opened my phone and pulled up the photo my best friend had sent me, holding the screen out toward him.
“Ethan, who is this?”
In the photo, he and Madison sat facing each other, with the candles on the cake still glowing.
His expression changed.
He didn’t turn pale. His face turned gray.
“Did you have someone investigate me?”
I said calmly, “I didn’t investigate you. My best friend happened to run into you while eating at Hudson Yards.”
“Ethan, you were celebrating Madison’s birthday? Since when have you two been so close?”
He took a deep breath and then said something that still disgusted me whenever I remembered it.
“Madison came back from overseas, and she’s having a hard time alone. I’m just having dinner with an old classmate. What’s wrong with that?”
I let out a cold laugh. “Then explain why she took my power of attorney to my company.”
“What power of attorney? I don’t know anything about that.”
“Keep pretending. Go ahead.”
He stood up, raising his voice. “Claire, what exactly are you implying? Do you suspect something is going on between Madison and me? She dumped me back then. Do you know how much I suffered? How could I possibly still—”
“Because you never got over her.”
The moment I said it, the living room fell silent.
He didn’t deny it.
After three seconds of silence, he picked up his coat and slammed the door behind him.
I didn’t chase after him. I sat on the couch and saved the recording of our conversation.
Ever since I found the photo of Madison, I had kept call recording turned on.
It wasn’t because I was scheming.
It was because my instincts told me this time was different.
Early the next morning, I went to see my lawyer.
Her name was Ms. Parker. She was the long-term legal counsel for our company, and we had worked together for years. I trusted her.
I told her everything from beginning to end.
The shares, the power of attorney, Madison, and Ethan’s reaction.
After listening, Ms. Parker’s expression became very serious.
“Claire, I’ll be honest with you. I’ve seen plenty of cases like yours. A man cheating isn’t the scariest part. The scary part is when he also starts moving your assets.”
“I know.”
“If he forged your signature, and that’s confirmed, it’s a criminal offense.”
“Can it be proven?”
“Yes, as long as you’re willing to burn the bridge.”
I was silent for a few seconds.
“He already burned it. What am I still protecting?”
Ms. Parker nodded and took a stack of forms from her drawer. “Then I’ll give you a list. First, go to the business registry and obtain the company’s registration-change records from the past three months to see whether anything unusual happened. Second, I’ll send a letter from the firm to the company demanding the original documents containing all equity-related signatures. Third, go home and secure all important identification documents, property deeds, and bank records, and change every password.”
“Could he have moved other assets of mine already?”
“We won’t know until we check.”
When I left the law firm, the sky had turned cloudy.
I sat in my car for a while, then called my mother.
“Mom, could you take care of my daughter for a few days? I have something to deal with.”
My mother could hear that something was wrong in my voice. “What happened? Did you and Ethan have a fight?”
“It’s not a fight. We might be getting divorced.”
There was silence on the other end for several seconds.
Then my mother said, “All right. Take care of what you need to. Don’t worry about your daughter. I’ll take care of her. Don’t be scared. Mom’s here.”
I hung up, and the tears finally fell.
They weren’t for Ethan.
They were for me.
Seven years together and five years of marriage—I had worked myself to the bone to support our family, only to discover that he had been thinking about another woman.
4
The results of the investigation came back faster than I expected.
After Ms. Parker sent the letter to the company, Ms. Rivera cooperated and retrieved all the documents.
I sat in Ms. Parker’s office and watched her lay the materials out in front of me one by one.
“Let’s start with the equity. You originally held thirty-five percent of the company, corresponding to a registered capital contribution of $150,000. After last year’s Series B financing, those shares were valued at $28 million.”
“Last month, someone used a power of attorney to process an equity transfer.
Twenty-five percent of the shares under your name were transferred to Madison, and another ten percent were transferred to Ethan.”
“Your ownership went from thirty-five percent to zero.”
I stared at the documents, my hands trembling.
“Can you confirm that the signature on the power of attorney is forged?”
“The handwriting analysis is complete. It isn’t yours.”
“What about my identification documents? I’ve always had them with me.”
“Have you given your identification documents to Ethan recently?”
I thought about it.
Last month, our daughter needed a passport, so I gave Ethan my documents and asked him to make copies.
He returned them that same day.
“He took pictures of them,” I said. “He used that opportunity to photograph them and then forged the copies.”
Ms. Parker nodded. “That’s the most common method.”
“Now for the second matter.” She pulled out another stack of documents. “I checked all the assets under both your names.”
“You own two properties. One was purchased before the marriage for $480,000 in cash and is registered solely under your name. The other was purchased after the marriage. You paid $180,000 of the $225,000 down payment, while Ethan paid $45,000, and you’ve been making the mortgage payments. Both names are on the title.”
“Last month, a mortgage was registered against the marital property, with Madison listed as the secured lender. She loaned Ethan $400,000, and he used this property as collateral.”
I froze.
“He mortgaged our house to Madison to borrow money?”
“Yes. And this money—look at this.” Ms. Parker pulled out another bank statement. “Ethan’s account received $400,000 from Madison last month, and he transferred it out the next day to an account belonging to a company called Horizon Investments.”
“What kind of company is that?”
“I looked into it. It’s a shell company, and the registered owner is Ethan’s cousin.”
I took a deep breath.
“He laundered the $400,000?”
“Most likely. And it gets more complicated. He used your house as collateral, so if you want a divorce, your ability to dispose of the property is restricted. You’ll have to repay the $400,000 and release the mortgage first.”
I did the math.
With interest, I couldn’t come up with that much cash immediately.
“Now for the third matter,” Ms. Parker continued. “Have you checked the insurance policies, investments, and savings under your name?”
I nodded.
I had checked every account the previous night.
The insurance was untouched, and the investments were untouched, but the savings in our joint account were down by more than $80,000.
Ethan had transferred it out in six separate transactions.
The notes said “household expenses,” “renovations,” and “car purchase.”
I hadn’t bought a car, and we hadn’t renovated the house.
“Who were the recipients?”
“Six different personal accounts, but I checked the transaction histories of three of them. The money eventually ended up in one account—Madison’s.”
I closed my eyes.
The house, the shares, the savings.
He wanted to transfer all my assets to Madison and leave me with nothing but an empty shell and a mountain of debt.
“Ms. Parker, are all of these charges enough to send him to prison?”
“Forging your signature alone is enough. Fraud is enough, too. But once we file a criminal case, there’s no turning back.”
I took a deep breath, my gaze more determined than ever.
“I’m sure.”
After Ms. Parker sent the letter to the company, Ms. Rivera cooperated and retrieved all the documents.
I sat in Ms. Parker’s office and watched her lay the materials out in front of me one by one.
“Let’s start with the equity. You originally held thirty-five percent of the company, corresponding to a registered capital contribution of $150,000. After last year’s Series B financing, those shares were valued at $28 million.”
“Last month, someone used a power of attorney to process an equity transfer.
Twenty-five percent of the shares under your name were transferred to Madison, and another ten percent were transferred to Ethan.”
“Your ownership went from thirty-five percent to zero.”
I stared at the documents, my hands trembling.
“Can you confirm that the signature on the power of attorney is forged?”
“The handwriting analysis is complete. It isn’t yours.”
“What about my identification documents? I’ve always had them with me.”
“Have you given your identification documents to Ethan recently?”
I thought about it.
Last month, our daughter needed a passport, so I gave Ethan my documents and asked him to make copies.
He returned them that same day.
“He took pictures of them,” I said. “He used that opportunity to photograph them and then forged the copies.”
Ms. Parker nodded. “That’s the most common method.”
“Now for the second matter.” She pulled out another stack of documents. “I checked all the assets under both your names.”
“You own two properties. One was purchased before the marriage for $480,000 in cash and is registered solely under your name. The other was purchased after the marriage. You paid $180,000 of the $225,000 down payment, while Ethan paid $45,000, and you’ve been making the mortgage payments. Both names are on the title.”
“Last month, a mortgage was registered against the marital property, with Madison listed as the secured lender. She loaned Ethan $400,000, and he used this property as collateral.”
I froze.
“He mortgaged our house to Madison to borrow money?”
“Yes. And this money—look at this.” Ms. Parker pulled out another bank statement. “Ethan’s account received $400,000 from Madison last month, and he transferred it out the next day to an account belonging to a company called Horizon Investments.”
“What kind of company is that?”
“I looked into it. It’s a shell company, and the registered owner is Ethan’s cousin.”
I took a deep breath.
“He laundered the $400,000?”
“Most likely. And it gets more complicated. He used your house as collateral, so if you want a divorce, your ability to dispose of the property is restricted. You’ll have to repay the $400,000 and release the mortgage first.”
I did the math.
With interest, I couldn’t come up with that much cash immediately.
“Now for the third matter,” Ms. Parker continued. “Have you checked the insurance policies, investments, and savings under your name?”
I nodded.
I had checked every account the previous night.
The insurance was untouched, and the investments were untouched, but the savings in our joint account were down by more than $80,000.
Ethan had transferred it out in six separate transactions.
The notes said “household expenses,” “renovations,” and “car purchase.”
I hadn’t bought a car, and we hadn’t renovated the house.
“Who were the recipients?”
“Six different personal accounts, but I checked the transaction histories of three of them. The money eventually ended up in one account—Madison’s.”
I closed my eyes.
The house, the shares, the savings.
He wanted to transfer all my assets to Madison and leave me with nothing but an empty shell and a mountain of debt.
“Ms. Parker, are all of these charges enough to send him to prison?”
“Forging your signature alone is enough. Fraud is enough, too. But once we file a criminal case, there’s no turning back.”
I took a deep breath, my gaze more determined than ever.
“I’m sure.”