Chapter 10 - THE PEOPLE HE FORGOT TO PAY
Marisol Vega arrived at my house the following afternoon.
She was twenty-nine years old, with dark hair pulled into a low ponytail and tired brown eyes.
Her work boots were scuffed.
Her denim jacket had a small tear near the pocket.
She looked like someone who had spent too many nights worrying about bills.
Tessa stayed upstairs with the twins while Marisol and I sat in the kitchen.
“Thank you for agreeing to meet,” she said.
“Of course.”
She placed a folded sheet of paper on the table.
“This is what Ethan gave us.”
I opened it carefully.
The document appeared to be a written assurance that outstanding wages would be paid using funds backed by me.
My name appeared near the bottom.
The signature looked familiar.
Too familiar.
It was another imitation of my handwriting.
I felt a familiar heaviness settle in my chest.
“Marisol, I never signed this.”
She stared at me.
“What?”
“I didn't authorize this letter.”
Her face changed.
For a moment, she looked as though she might cry.
Then she lowered her eyes.
“I didn't know.”
“I believe you.”
She twisted her hands together.
“Ethan told us his wife worked in finance. He said you were helping restructure the company.”
I shook my head.
“He never told me the business was in trouble.”
Marisol looked devastated.
I studied her for a moment.
“How long have you worked for him?”
“Almost three years.”
“And how much are you owed?”
“Four weeks of wages. Some overtime too.”
She hesitated.
“My husband was injured earlier this year. He's working again, but only part-time.”
I waited.
“We have a six-year-old son. Mateo.”
Her voice broke slightly.
“He needs new glasses. I kept telling him we'd order them after payday.”
My throat tightened.
Marisol looked embarrassed.
“I shouldn't be telling you all this.”
“No. It's okay.”
She shook her head.
“I just don't understand how Ethan could keep telling us the money was coming.”
I looked down at the letter.
I didn't understand either.
Or perhaps I was finally beginning to.
Ethan had built a life around appearances.
The successful businessman.
The reliable husband.
The devoted son.
The confident provider.
And when reality threatened that image, he'd concealed the truth instead of facing it.
The damage hadn't stopped at our kitchen table.
It had reached people who depended on him for their livelihoods.
“Marisol,” I said, “I can't promise to personally pay the company's debts.”
She nodded immediately.
“I understand.”
“But I can help you find someone who knows how to pursue the wages you're owed.”
Her eyes lifted.
“Really?”
“Yes.”
I contacted Owen and asked whether he could recommend an attorney who handled wage claims.
He provided several options and information about the relevant labor agency.
I wrote everything down for Marisol.
Before she left, I asked one more question.
“Did Ethan ever tell you why he couldn't pay everyone?”
She hesitated.
“He said he was waiting for financing.”
“What financing?”
“A property-backed loan.”
My stomach turned.
Marisol continued.
“He said the closing was supposed to solve everything.”
I stared at her.
The home-equity application.
The forged signature.
The nine o'clock closing.
My husband had apparently promised employees their wages using money he hoped to borrow against my house.
Money I had never agreed to risk.
After Marisol left, I called Ethan.
He answered almost immediately.
“Lauren?”
“Marisol came to see me.”
Silence.
Then:
“What did she say?”
“That you owe her four weeks of wages.”
He sighed.
“I'm working on it.”
“She showed me a letter with my signature.”
He didn't answer.
I closed my eyes.
“Ethan, how many documents are out there with my name on them?”
“Lauren—”
“How many?”
His voice became strained.
“I don't know.”
I felt cold.
“You don't know?”
“Some of the company paperwork was prepared by the office manager.”
“Did you tell people I had guaranteed their wages?”
He hesitated.
“I told them I was arranging financing.”
“Using my house.”
He didn't answer.
I took a breath.
“Do you understand that Marisol has a child who's waiting for money she earned?”
“I know.”
“Then why did your mother receive money while your employees went unpaid?”
He was silent for a long time.
Finally, he whispered:
“Because she said she was going to lose everything.”
I stared at the wall.
“And what did you think your employees were going to lose?”
He had no answer.
I didn't raise my voice.
I didn't need to.
“Ethan, if you want to show me you've changed, start by being accountable to the people who trusted you.”
After ending the call, I sat quietly for several minutes.
Then I went upstairs.
Emma was awake, staring at the ceiling with wide blue eyes.
I lifted her gently.
“You know something, sweetheart?”
She blinked.
“Being responsible isn't about pretending you never make mistakes.”
I kissed her forehead.
“It's about what you do after you make them.”
Over the following days, Ethan began selling personal possessions.
His collection of expensive watches disappeared.
Then his vintage sports car was listed for sale.
He began working with a professional adviser to close or restructure parts of Whitmore Homeworks and address unpaid obligations.
It didn't magically repair the damage.
Employees were still owed money.
Creditors still expected payment.
But for the first time, Ethan was taking visible steps instead of promising that everything would somehow work out.
I wanted to believe that mattered.
And in a limited way, it did.
But my own problems were far from over.
Two days later, while I was folding baby clothes, I received an email from the compliance department at my employer.
The subject line made my heart pound.
Confidential: Verification Required — Financial Account Inquiry
I opened it.
A third-party verification service had flagged a collection-related account associated with my name.
My employer was asking me to clarify the information as part of an internal review.
I stared at the screen.
My job required careful handling of financial information.
My reputation depended on integrity.
And now an account I had never opened was threatening more than my savings.
I immediately called Caleb.
He listened to the details.
Then he asked:
“Lauren, have you checked every account reported under your name?”
“I thought we had.”
There was a pause.
“I think we need to look again.”
I felt a chill.
“Why?”
May you like
His answer was quiet.
“Because the disputed home-equity application may not be the only credit account someone opened using your identity.”
