Secret Things and Highland Flings. Tracy Corbett

that this policy wasn’t mentioned as part of your marital assets. I wonder why that was?’

      She stared at the document. ‘Because I never knew it existed.’

      ‘I find that a little hard to believe. After all, that is your signature on the policy, is it not? How do you account for that?’

      ‘I … I can’t. What I mean is, I’ve never seen this document before in my life.’

      It was clear he didn’t believe her. He removed a pad from his briefcase and scribbled something down. ‘Are you quite sure? Forgetting about its existence would seem a little strange. Especially as you and your husband surrendered the policy shortly before the bankruptcy hearing.’

      She felt something hard hit her in the chest. There was no way she’d have forgotten that. She lifted the document closer, studying the handwriting. ‘I … I don’t understand. How can a life insurance policy be cashed in if both parties are still alive?’

      ‘As I said, the policy was surrendered. The terms and conditions allowed for the refund of premiums paid into the account up until its cancellation. Surrendering the policy would have incurred hefty fees, but there would still have been a substantial payout.’

      She stared at the document, trying to make sense of it. Had she really forgotten about it? Surely not. The print was tiny, the list of terms and conditions hard to distinguish, but true enough, there at the bottom of the page appeared to be her signature. She peered closer, trying to fathom why she couldn’t remember signing it. ‘And when did you say it was cashed in?’

      He checked his notebook. ‘Third of November 2016.’

      The text on the page blurred before her as tears filled her eyes. That was two weeks before Marcus had run off with Cindy. The familiar pain of betrayal settled over her. The realisation that Marcus had been defrauding her since the day they were married was a feeling like no other she’d experienced. She’d been convinced his illegal antics were solely linked to the financial problems of his used-car business. But this was premeditated. A deliberate action designed to scam his own wife. Jesus. Marcus really had been a cheat. In more ways than one.

      Trying to contain her anger, she looked at the investigating officer. ‘This is not my signature.’

      ‘I beg your pardon, Mrs Aldridge?’

      ‘My name is Ms Ryan … and I said, that’s not my signature.’ She flipped over the page, looking for the withdrawal section. There it was again, her signature … but not. ‘The reason I don’t remember taking out this policy, or cashing it in, is because I never knew it existed.’ She got up and handed him the papers.

      He raised his eyebrows. ‘Are you saying that your husband forged your signature?’

      ‘I … I suppose I am.’ She shrugged. ‘All I really know is that I didn’t sign it.’

      He scribbled something down in his notebook. A few seconds ticked by before he looked up.

      ‘Have you been in contact with your husband recently, Mrs Ald … err … Ms Ryan?’

      Her left eye began twitching again. She moved away and tore off a wodge of kitchen roll, wrapping it around her finger, which had started to bleed again. ‘Marcus and I are divorced, Mr Falk. He’s with someone else now and currently residing in Spain. Thanks to his incompetent finances and illegal business ventures, I lost my home and suffered substantial financial hardship.’ She glanced around the office. ‘My business is all that I have left.’

      ‘That’s not what I asked.’ He watched her carefully. ‘I asked whether you’d been in contact with him recently.’

      Her cheeks started to burn. She had two options. Deny all knowledge and be rid of him or admit that her ex-husband was currently rummaging around in her storage basement looking for a holdall containing twenty-seven thousand pounds.

      A more pressing thought struck her. ‘How much was the insurance pay-out?’

      He paused before answering. ‘Twenty-seven thousand pounds.’

      Oh, cripes!

      Time slowed … and then sped up, causing her stomach to dip.

      So that’s where the money had come from … She’d assumed it had come from the sale of her Franz Gerste collection. Only it hadn’t.

      A mixture of anger and dread filled her gut. Once again, Marcus had shafted her. But she was equally annoyed with herself. That single momentary lapse of judgement nine months ago was coming back to haunt her. And now she was paying the price.

      But she’d been in such a desperate place. She was still reeling from discovering that Marcus was sleeping with his PA and had a gambling addiction. And then the court bailiffs had turned up at her home to seize goods. She’d had to endure a humiliating court hearing, employ an expensive solicitor to argue the gallery’s exclusion from the bankruptcy and borrow money from her sister Tasha to pay for it.

      She’d won her case, but every other asset had been sold to pay off Marcus’s business debts, leaving her with a frozen bank account, a poor credit rating and no home. All because Marcus’s business hadn’t been a limited company, leaving them personally and jointly liable.

      And she’d accepted her fate. Through it all she’d been stoic and honest – she’d even assisted the official receiver in complying fully with the insolvency regulations. But the discovery that Marcus had failed to bank the money from the sale of her Franz Gerste collection had sent her over the edge.

      When she’d gone to the house to collect the last of her belongings before the enforced repossession, she’d stumbled across a black holdall containing twenty-seven thousand pounds. All the promises she’d made to be trustworthy and law-abiding evaporated. She took the money and didn’t declare it.

      Despite her overwhelming guilt, she’d reasoned that the money had come from her paintings. Paintings that belonged to the gallery so weren’t a joint asset and therefore shouldn’t have been included in the bankruptcy. But getting the official receiver to agree to that would have involved another expensive court hearing, which she couldn’t afford.

      She’d considered using the money to pay off her debts, especially the money she owed to her sister, which she’d now cleared. But she’d decided against it. Mainly because she was still within the twelve-month bankruptcy period and the official receiver was monitoring her personal finances. He would have wanted to know where the money had come from and she hadn’t wanted to drag Tasha into her mess.

      So, instead of declaring what she’d found, she’d kept quiet and used it to purchase the Woman at the Window painting. It was supposed to be an investment, compensation for her suffering. But however much she tried to justify her actions, she’d still broken the law. Not to mention using her art dealer credentials to cover her tracks and avoid any suspicion of money laundering.

      And now an investigator was threatening to expose the one tiny chink in her otherwise flawless existence.

      She needed time to think. She also needed to throttle her scumbag, cheating liar of an ex-husband, who was currently in her basement.

      ‘In answer to your question, Mr Falk, I’ve not been in contact with my ex-husband.’ The twitch in her left eye increased.

      ‘Hmmm.’ He removed a business card from his pocket and stood up. ‘We’ll investigate your claims further, Ms Ryan. But perhaps you’d be good enough to contact me should you hear from him. We have several questions we’d like to ask Mr Aldridge.’

      He wasn’t the only one.

      He handed her the card. ‘Thank you for your time. Good day to you.’ He collected his briefcase. ‘We’ll be in touch.’

      She followed him over to the door, trying to keep a neutral expression. ‘Good luck with your investigations.’

      ‘Luck has nothing to do with it, Ms Ryan. The truth will always out in the end.’