“We have reason to believe she’s involved in a fraud case,” the officer said calmly. “We need her to come with us.”
My father blinked. “My wife was the victim of fraud. She’s the victim here. What’s with the handcuffs? That’s incredibly disrespectful.”
The officer’s patience was wearing thin. “Sir, Penelope Sterling is not the victim. She’s our suspect.”
The room went silent.
15:08
The officer then laid out the truth. Earlier that year, Penny had met a man online. A con artist. They’d started a whirlwind romance, and he had
convinced her to help him drain my father’s bank accounts. The “scam” of over a hundred thousand dollars was her own doing. The money wasn’t
stolen from her; she had willingly given it to her online lover. They had even planned for her to fake her own death by suicide, for which she’d been
stockpiling antidepressants and securing a phony diagnosis for months.
The plan was delayed only because, just before the honeymoon, my father had mentioned the condo my mother had left him, and offered to conv-
ince us to give it to Penny as a “gift.”
By a stroke of luck, the police had just arrested her lover, who had confessed to the entire scheme.
When the officer finished, my father turned to Penny, his face contorted in fury. “How could you do this?”
She was still trying to lie her way out. “Cole, no, it’s not true! The
must be actors! The girls must have hired them!”
a five–day detention.”
The officer flashed his badge. “Filing a false report against a public official is
Even Penny couldn’t talk her way out of that.
My father went with her to the station to give his statement. As he left, he was in a complete daze, the dawning horror and humiliation of a cucko-
Ided man written all over his face.
