Chapter 11 - THE CLINIC FILE
I called my supervisor before leaving the courthouse.
“Margaret, I need you to check something.”
“What?”
“Any unusual access to my employment records.”
There was silence.
“How unusual?”
“Anyone requesting health information, disciplinary history, anything involving medication.”
She called me back forty minutes later.
“Claire.”
Her voice sounded wrong.
“What did you find?”
“Someone accessed your employee file three weeks ago.”
“Who?”
“A temporary HR contractor.”
“Why?”
“He says he received a signed authorization.”
My stomach dropped.
“I never signed one.”
We pulled the document.
Another forged signature.
The request asked for attendance records.
Drug screening history.
Employee health records.
Any notes involving emotional distress.
Andrew had been searching for material he could use.
He found nothing.
So someone created something.
A handwritten note had been inserted into my file.
“Employee appeared emotionally overwhelmed after shift and made concerning statement regarding exhaustion.”
I had never made that statement.
The nurse whose initials appeared on it had retired six months earlier.
My supervisor stared at the document.
“This is fake.”
“Yes.”
“How did it get here?”
That question became the center of another investigation.
The HR contractor admitted someone had paid him.
Not Andrew.
Lorraine.
She had contacted him through a church acquaintance.
A woman who spent years presenting herself as a helpless widow had bribed someone to alter my employment record.
The betrayal felt almost absurd.
How long had she hated me?
Or had it never been hate?
Maybe I was simply standing between her son and money.
By the end of the week, Lorraine was facing potential charges related to fraud and falsified records.
Andrew’s company placed him on administrative leave after investigators seized his work computer.
The affair became almost irrelevant.
The financial scheme was destroying him faster than infidelity ever could.
Then Melissa gave police another piece of evidence.
A voice message Andrew had sent her after the birthday confrontation.
“You ruined everything.”
His voice was shaking.
“You were supposed to stay quiet until the house was handled.”
Melissa had replied,
“You lied to me.”
Andrew said,
“I was going to leave Claire.”
“When?”
“As soon as the money cleared.”
“And your mother?”
“She’d get the house temporarily. We’d sell it later.”
Melissa asked,
“What about Claire?”
Andrew’s answer became the sentence I could never forget.
“She always lands on her feet.”
Seven years.
That was what my husband believed.
He could take my money.
My home.
My reputation.
My security.
And it was fine because I would “land on my feet.”
That afternoon, Rebecca called.
“We received Andrew’s divorce proposal.”
I laughed.
“He’s making proposals?”
“You need to see this one.”
“What does he want?”
She paused.
“The house.”
I almost smiled.
“Of course.”
“And Claire?”
“Yes?”
“He says if you give it to him, he’ll agree not to pursue spousal support.”
May you like
I stared at the wall.
Then I began laughing so hard Rebecca had to wait for me to stop.
