Chapter 6 - The most expensive gift
The diamond ring cost $92,000.
I had nearly laughed at myself when I bought it.
Mariana had never asked for another ring.
I bought it because money had briefly made me stupid.
Now Samuel examined the receipt.
“Why this jeweler?”
“Recommended by the advisor’s assistant.”
“What advisor?”
The private wealth consultant I met after confirming the ticket.
Name:
Graham West.
Samuel’s face changed.
“I didn’t refer him.”
I stared.
“What?”
The lottery claims clerk gave me a list of professionals.
Graham contacted me first.
Said he handled sudden wealth.
He had been in the conference room before Samuel arrived.
He advised me on gift limits.
Asset privacy.
Trust formation.
And not telling Mariana until structures were in place.
At the time, that sounded prudent.
Now it sounded like isolation.
Samuel searched his credentials.
Graham West existed.
Licensed.
Experienced.
But his firm had a prior consulting relationship with Vithera Logistics.
There it was again.
Every road returned to Vithera.
Then we checked the diamond store.
Graham’s assistant made the appointment.
The SUV dealership?
Same assistant.
The roses?
Same concierge.
My “romantic surprise” had been orchestrated through people linked to Graham.
Maybe normal luxury service.
Maybe not.
“What would they gain?” I asked.
Samuel leaned back.
“If somebody wanted to document sudden marital spending before a divorce, these gifts create evidence.”
I stared.
Evidence of what?
That I was dissipating marital assets?
That I intended to hide winnings?
That I was behaving irrationally after a windfall?
The timing was perfect for a courtroom narrative.
Mariana filed divorce.
I won.
Then spent hundreds of thousands on flashy gifts.
All before proper claims structures.
But the gifts were for her.
Still, narratives don’t need fairness to be useful.
Then Mariana looked at the pink SUV receipt.
Her face changed.
“What?”
“The delivery authorization.”
I followed her finger.
Recipient signature line.
Not mine.
Not hers.
Initials:
R.S.
Rodrigo Santillan.
He had confirmed delivery.
Why?
The dealership representative assumed he was Mariana’s executive assistant.
Someone had arranged that misunderstanding.
Then Samuel’s phone rang.
He listened.
Went quiet.
“What?”
He ended the call.
“The missing lottery ticket has been found.”
My heart pounded.
“Where?”
“At a claims office in Richmond.”
“Who had it?”
“Charles Wynn.”
Mariana’s divorce attorney.
He had walked in claiming he represented both spouses and wanted to secure the ticket as a marital asset.
Samuel looked at Mariana.
“Did you authorize that?”
“No.”
“Did you give him the ticket?”
“No.”
May you like
Then only one question remained.
How did Wynn get the original from my jacket?
