Coffee with Jamie
“I thought I’d find you at the gym, not the espresso bar,” I said, sliding into the squeaky‑wheeled chair opposite Jamie.
She smiled, eyes still rimmed with exhaustion from the morning rush. “You look like you’ve been carrying a house on your shoulders.”
I laughed, a thin sound that barely rose above the hiss of the milk frother. “Almost. Ethan left. The whole surrogacy thing… it feels like a bad joke now.”
Jamie's hand hovered over her latte, then dropped a folded paper on the table. “You’ll want to see this.”
She pulled out a phone, scrolling. “You know Maya, the coworker Ethan was obsessed with?”
“The one with the endless bikini posts?” I replied, feeling the old sting of jealousy flare.
“Exactly. She’s been arrested.” Jamie’s voice steadied, the buzz of the café fading into the background. “The police say she ran a massive fraud scheme… tied to the same surrogacy agency we all trusted.”
I stared at the screen, heart thudding. “What does that have to do with us?”
She leaned in, voice low. “Everything, if you remember how Ethan bragged about the $60,000 payout.”
Paper Trail
Jamie tapped a link, and a news article loaded, bold headlines screaming about a “$120 Million Surrogacy Fraud Ring.”
“Read this,” she urged, pointing at the paragraph that mentioned Maya’s shell companies. “The money Ethan promised you never went to you.”
I felt my throat tighten. “But… they paid the mortgage. The cash cleared our account.”
Jamie swiped the screen, revealing a chart of transactions. “All the payouts were funneled into ‘Luna Holdings,’ a company registered to Maya’s cousin.”
My mind raced, images of the spreadsheet Ethan had shown flashing back. “So the $60 K… it’s gone?”
“Diverted before it ever hit your bank. The agency took a cut, but the bulk landed in that shell.”
She paused, eyes flicking to the street outside. “And the police just raided her condo.”
My fingers trembled as I reached for the coffee, the bitter taste suddenly metallic.
“What about Ethan’s mom?” I asked, dread pooling in my chest.
Jamie’s phone buzzed, a live news alert flashing across the screen: “Maya arrested; authorities now searching for Ethan’s mother, suspected co‑conspirator.”
Confronting the Mother
My hands trembled as I knocked on the cracked door of Ethan’s mother’s modest unit.
She opened, eyes rimmed with fatigue, and the scent of stale coffee clung to the air.
"Martha, we need to talk," I said, voice barely above a whisper.
She gestured me inside without a word, the silence humming louder than any argument.
“I’ve heard about the fraud,” I began, watching the tremor in her lips.
She sank into her worn armchair, a sigh escaping her throat.
“I signed a contract,” she confessed, eyes darting to the window. “Your coworker—she promised to refinance my house. I thought it was a lifeline.”
My heart pounded. “You didn’t know the money was yours?”
She shook her head. “I thought I was saving us all. I never imagined the $60,000 was being… diverted.”
“Diverted?” I pressed, feeling the bitter taste of betrayal.
She swallowed hard. “Into a shell company she owned. I signed the papers, not knowing she’d siphon it.”
My mind raced, images of the surrogacy payments flashing like broken glass.
“So the money we thought we earned… never reached me?” I whispered.
She nodded, eyes glistening with unshed tears. “I’m sorry, darling. I was naive.”
In that cramped kitchen, the weight of the lie settled like a stone in my chest.
The Ledger and the Looming Threat
She led me to a dusty closet behind the hallway bookshelf.
“I kept a copy of everything,” she said, pulling out a leather‑bound ledger, its pages yellowed as if they’d soaked up years of secrets.
