“Yes?” I stepped back.
“I’m one of Mark Evans’s investors!” the man spat, marching toward the counter. “He owes me five million dollars! He told me his wife in Chicago had the money stashed away! You pay me back, or I swear to God I’ll burn this place down!”
“Sir, please calm down,” I said, my voice trembling but loud. “I am divorced from Mark Evans. I have nothing to do with his debts.”
“Liar!” The man slammed his hand on the counter, knocking over a jar of biscotti. Glass shattered. “You’re in on it! You’re the wife!”
Suddenly, a strong arm pushed me gently behind a solid back. Ben.
He had walked in from the back storage room just as the glass broke. He stood between me and the screaming man, his posture defensive but calm.
“Sir,” Ben said, his voice low and dangerous. “You need to step back. Now.”
“Who are you?” the man sneered.
“I’m the man who is going to call the police if you don’t walk out that door in five seconds,” Ben said. “This woman is legally divorced. Her assets are separate. If you have a grievance, take it up with the Canadian courts. Harassing her is a crime.”
The man looked at Ben, then at the shattered glass, and finally seemed to realize he was making a mistake. He pointed a shaking finger at me. “This isn’t over.”
He turned and stormed out.
Ben immediately turned to me, checking me for injuries. “Are you okay? Did the glass hit you?”
I collapsed into his arms, shaking uncontrollably. “He said Mark told them I had the money. Mark is trying to ruin me from prison.”
“He won’t,” Ben said, holding me tight. “We’re going to call Miss Davis. We’re going to build a fortress around you so high that Mark Evans can never touch you again.”
The next month was a nightmare of legal maneuvering. Miss Davis worked overtime. We had to prove to the Canadian authorities that I was a victim, not an accomplice. The fact that I had emptied the account before the Ponzi scheme fully collapsed actually worked in my favor—it showed I was severing ties, not hiding loot.
Mark’s attempts to drag me down failed. The investigation revealed that the “seed money” he claimed came from me was actually stolen from another investor. His letter was a desperate lie to get leverage.
Finally, the Canadian authorities cleared me. The creditors were legally barred from contacting me.
One evening, the phone rang again. A collect call from a Canadian detention center.
Ben looked at me. “You don’t have to answer.”
