Chapter 7 - NORTHLINE
Preston called fourteen times that night.
I ignored every one.
At 11:43 p.m., he sent a message.
What did Raymond tell you?
Then:
Do not talk to Laura.
Then:
Abigail, answer me.
The last one arrived after midnight.
You have no idea what you’re getting involved in.
I took screenshots.
Rachel had told me to document everything.
The next morning, Mason called.
I almost didn’t answer.
“Abby?”
“What do you want?”
He sounded different from the man who had laughed at me during Preston’s birthday party.
Nervous.
Small.
“I need to ask you something.”
“No.”
“Please.”
I stayed silent.
He continued.
“Did Preston ever give you paperwork for Northline?”
“No.”
“Are you sure?”
My stomach tightened.
“What kind of paperwork?”
“Anything. Contracts. Tax forms. Corporate documents.”
“No.”
He exhaled sharply.
“Good.”
“Why?”
“Forget I called.”
“Mason.”
He hung up.
Twenty minutes later, I called Rachel.
By noon, we were reviewing every financial document I had legal access to.
Nothing showed Northline.
But something else did.
Three years earlier, Preston had opened a separate credit card.
The statements went to his office.
I knew the card existed.
I didn’t know how much he used it.
Rachel pointed toward the screen.
“These transfers?”
Monthly payments.
Different amounts.
$4,800.
$6,200.
$5,500.
All sent to an account labeled MS Holdings.
“Mason Sterling,” I whispered.
Rachel sat back.
“Could be.”
My phone rang.
Preston.
I answered this time.
“Where are you?”
“None of your business.”
“Are you with an attorney?”
I said nothing.
His breathing changed.
“Abby, listen to me.”
“I’m listening.”
“Raymond is trying to destroy me because I challenged him.”
“And Northline?”
Silence.
Then, “Laura told you.”
“Mason called me.”
That was a mistake.
I knew it immediately.
Preston went completely quiet.
“What did Mason say?”
“Goodbye, Preston.”
“Abigail.”
I ended the call.
That evening, I returned to the house with Rachel’s investigator to collect clothes and personal documents.
The front door was unlocked.
I knew I had locked it when I left.
We entered carefully.
Nothing downstairs looked disturbed.
Then I reached my home office.
The file cabinet stood open.
Papers covered the floor.
The old investment folder was gone.
So were two boxes of financial records.
The investigator looked at me.
“Did your husband know these were here?”
“Yes.”
My phone buzzed.
A text from Preston.
Lose something?
I stared at the words.
May you like
Then another message arrived.
You should have stayed out of my business.
