Second Wife

Chapter 14 — FBI

They called from Anna’s car, parked behind a grocery store, engine running, both women staring at the business card like it might explode.

Special Agent Daniel Reyes picked up on the second ring.

“Mrs. Marlow,” he said, before Beth had said a word. “Caller ID. I know about the bank visit today. First National flagged the account freeze to our office within the hour. Filing the fraud report was smart — it starts a paper trail that protects you.”

Anna leaned toward the speaker. “This is Anna Cole. Craig’s — his other wife.”

“I know who you are, Mrs. Cole,” Reyes said. “I’ve known for some time. Would you both be willing to meet? Not at your homes. Somewhere public, somewhere Craig won’t look.”

“When?” Beth asked.

“Tomorrow. There’s a diner off Route 70, the Bluebird. Nine a.m. I’ll be in a gray sedan, booth in the back. And ladies —” his voice turned serious — “don’t tell Craig. Don’t tell anyone. The next forty-eight hours matter more than you know.”

They barely slept. The Bluebird Diner smelled of coffee and bacon grease. The man in the back booth stood as they approached — mid-forties, weathered, watchful.

“Thank you for coming,” Reyes said, sliding two menus across the table. “Order something. We look less interesting when we’re eating.”

They ordered coffee they didn’t drink. Then Reyes opened a thin briefcase and laid a photograph on the table.

It was Craig. Getting out of a car in a parking garage, handing a briefcase to a man Anna had never seen.

“Who’s that?” Anna asked.

“That’s the question,” Reyes said. “We’ve been watching your husband for a year, Mrs. Cole. Mrs. Marlow. And I want to be straight with you: this stopped being about infidelity a long time ago.”

Beth’s coffee cup rattled in its saucer. “Laundering what?”

“Money.” Reyes said it plainly, like a doctor delivering a diagnosis. “Craig’s logistics job is real. But for three years, he’s been breaking cash into deposits under the reporting threshold and wiring it through a chain of accounts for an organization we believe is tied to narcotics. The cash comes in dirty and comes out clean.”

“Four hundred thousand,” Beth whispered. “Through an account in my name.”

Reyes nodded. “We know about the Riverside account. We were watching the money move — and watching to see if you were involved.”

“I’m not,” Beth said fiercely. “That signature is forged. I filed a fraud report.”

“I know,” Reyes said gently. “The forgery is amateur — he never expected you to look. He doesn’t think the women in his life pay attention.”

Anna felt sick. “How long have you— you said a year. You’ve been watching him for a year and you didn’t warn us?”

Reyes met her eyes. “I knocked on Mrs. Marlow’s door six months ago and gave her my card. But I can’t detonate a woman’s marriage on suspicion. I needed her to come to me — and I needed evidence that clears both of you.”

“Clears us,” Anna repeated. “You think we might be charged.”

“It’s my job to consider it,” Reyes said. “Two households, both funded by laundered money, both wives with their names on accounts and properties. A prosecutor could make a case. That’s why the fraud report matters, Mrs. Marlow. That’s why everything you’ve documented matters. Innocent people leave a different kind of paper trail than guilty ones — and so far, yours looks innocent. But I need more.”

“What do you need?” Beth asked.

“Time. And access.” Reyes leaned forward. “Craig trusts both of you — or he thinks he has you fooled, which amounts to the same thing. He’ll keep moving money through your lives. Every statement, every receipt, every overheard phone call — I need it. Quietly. For the next few months.”

“Months,” Anna said. “You want us to live with him for months, knowing—”

“I want you to stay safe,” Reyes cut in. “That’s the priority. If at any point you feel unsafe, you call me and we pull the plug. But the longer we watch, the stronger the case. And the stronger the case, the cleaner your names.”

Beth was crying silently, tears tracking down her face. Anna reached for her hand under the table.

“There’s one more thing,” Reyes said. He laid a second photograph on the table — Anna’s house. “We know about the two families. And ladies, I need you to understand something.” He looked at each of them. “Craig didn’t just cheat on you. He built his entire operation around you. Both households, both mortgages — you’re not just his wives.”

He paused.

“You’re his infrastructure.”

The words landed like a physical blow. Anna thought about twelve years of mortgage payments. The college fund for Jenna. The kitchen renovation Craig had insisted on paying cash for. Every dollar in her life, every safe ordinary dollar, suddenly suspect.

“What happens to us?” Anna whispered. “If he’s convicted — the houses, the money?”

“Assets bought with laundered funds can be seized,” Reyes said honestly. “But cooperating witnesses — especially innocent ones — have protections. I can’t promise you won’t lose things.”

He stood, leaving a twenty on the table for the untouched coffee.

“Go home,” he said. “Act normal. Be the wives he thinks you are. And call me the moment anything changes.”

They drove back in silence. At the intersection where their roads split, Beth stopped the car.

“Anna,” she said. “We’re his infrastructure. Every birthday party, every Christmas morning — all of it built on dirty money. Our whole lives.”

Anna looked at her — this woman who’d waited two years, who’d filed the fraud report, who was crying in a car on the side of the road — and felt something settle in her chest. Not fear. Not grief.

Resolve.

“Then we tear it down,” Anna said. “Brick by brick. And we build something real on top of it.”

Beth nodded slowly. “Brick by brick.”

Anna got out and walked to her own car. Before she drove away, her phone buzzed. Beth:

**He just texted. He’s coming home for dinner tonight. Both of us. Act normal.**

Anna stared at the message. Then she typed back:

**Then let’s give him the best normal he’s ever seen.**

She started the car and drove home to cook dinner for a criminal — smiling, unsuspecting, perfect.

It was the hardest performance of her life. And the most important.