“This is Officer Chen from the Toronto Police Service,” a stern female voice announced. “Am I speaking with Hannah Miller?”
My stomach dropped. “Yes.”
“We are contacting you regarding your ex-husband, Mr. Mark Evans.”
“Is he… is he dead?” The thought occurred to me with shocking neutrality.
“No, ma’am. He has been arrested.”
I gripped the counter of my coffee shop. “Arrested? For what?”
“Investment fraud and embezzlement,” Officer Chen replied. “It appears Mr. Evans has been running a Ponzi scheme. He was soliciting investments for a fake tech startup and using the funds to maintain a lavish lifestyle. The total amount involved exceeds twenty million Canadian dollars.”
I gasped. “Twenty million?”
“We have seized his assets,” the officer continued. “However, before his arrest, he requested we contact you. He claims that a portion of the initial ‘seed money’ for his operations came from your joint accounts, which implicates you.”
“That money was awarded to me in a divorce settlement!” I said, my voice rising in panic. “I have the court documents. I had no idea about his business.”
“We will need to verify that. But there is something else. Mr. Evans left a letter for you. He… he seems to be trying to shift blame. He claims he married you solely to establish a facade of stability to attract investors.”
The line went dead in my ear as I stood there, the blood draining from my face. He never loved me. Even the beginning was a lie. I wasn’t just a wife he got bored of; I was a prop. A pawn in a long-con.
Just then, the bell above the coffee shop door jingled aggressively.
A man in a dishevelled suit stormed in, his eyes wild. He scanned the room and locked eyes with me.
“Hannah Miller?” he shouted, startling the few customers.
