Elena slid one more page across her desk. It was a bank statement from an account Nate had opened at a different bank. The withdrawals from the IRA and the credit line went in, and then they went out to three sports betting apps and an online casino. There were deposits of $5,000, $10,000, and $20,000, again and again.
There were a few winning payouts too, enough to keep him going. Mostly, the money just disappeared.
“He’s a gambling addict,” I said slowly.
“That’s how it looks,” Elena said gently. “And when the money ran out, he started taking yours.”
I thought about every time Nate said his commission was late, every time he asked me to cover his lease, the “investments” he moved without explanation. I thought about the grocery store tulips in the hospital.
“Who’s Carol Dempsey?” I asked.
Elena checked her notes. “An Illinois notary public in Schaumburg. Her commission address is about four blocks from your mother-in-law’s house.”
That night, I looked Carol Dempsey up on Facebook. Her profile picture showed two gray-haired women in matching sweatshirts at a church fish fry: Carol Dempsey and Barbara Carter, arms around each other.
The caption said: “Me and my best friend of thirty years!”
