Page 120 of Fall For Me
Then I shut the door and go back to the kitchen.
Liam is where I left him, sipping his coffee nonchalantly.
“Since when do we subscribe to the paper?” I ask, setting it on the table between us. “And aren’t delivery boys supposed to be gangly teenagers on bicycles?”
Liam’s mouth twitches behind his mug. “Have you looked at it?”
“No, I was too busy wondering if we’d been visited by a hitman.”
“Really? You’ve been bugging me to meet Kit for months.”
“Who?”
Liam smirks. “My guy?”
“That”—I point a thumb at the driveway—“is your resourceful personal assistant?”
I had imagined Liam’s “guy” as a middle-aged accountant with lots of connections, someone who’d employ brains over brawn. But the guy at the door didn’t look like the type to negotiate before breaking a nose.
“Did he bring good news?” Liam asks.
I glance down at the folded newspaper, expecting a copy of theLake Sunbut finding today’s edition of theSpringfield News-Leader.
I unfold it.
A photograph of a man in a rumpled suit, his face twisted in ugly fury as he’s being led down a set of steps by two federal agents in navy windbreakers, dominates the front page. His wrists are cuffed behind his back. His hair, usually styled with meticulous precision, hangs limp across his forehead.
It’s a picture of Matt. Being arrested.
I read the headline.
FEDERAL RAID IN DOWNTOWN SPRINGFIELD
Debt Empire Heir Arrested in Multimillion-Dollar “Sewer Service” Fraud Scheme
SPRINGFIELD—Matthew VanCamp, heir to one of the state’s most aggressive debt collection agencies, was taken into federal custody early Wednesday morning amidst allegations of a pervasive “sewer service” fraud ring.
An unsealed federal indictment accuses the VanCamps’ agency of intentionally failing to notify thousands of defendants of pending lawsuits. Instead of delivering court summonses, contracted process servers allegedly dumped the legal documents—a practice colloquially known as“sewer service”—and submitted falsified affidavits to the court claiming successful delivery.
The scheme allowed the agency to secure millions of dollars in default judgments, quietly garnishing the wages and freezing the bank accounts of victims who had no idea they were even being sued. According to the FBI, in some instances, process servers swore under oath that they had successfully served papers to defendants who were later proven to be out of the state, in the hospital, or currently incarcerated.
My jaw drops to the floor, and I sink into my chair. “Oh my gosh, Matt is an outright criminal. How did it… How…” I look at my husband. “What did you do?”
Liam smiles; he doesn’t even try to deny he’s behind this somehow. He turns the paper, still flat on the table, and studies the photo with a smug pout. Then he looks at me. “I figured someone willing to fight dirty with a woman and her family only because she said no to him wouldn’t play by the rules in his business either.” He clicks his tongue, satisfied.
“But how…?” I point to the article. I’m speechless.
“It took Kit a couple of months to get to the bottom of how much of a dirtbag your ex was. Then we dropped a bow-tied box of evidence in the lap of a hungry FBI agent, and the rest”—he gestures at the paper—“is history.”
My phone rings on the table, the photo of me and Emma filling the screen.
I pick up.
“Have you seen the frigging news?” She doesn’t even say hello.
“Just now. Liam and his guy, they, err… facilitated the discovery.”
“What? They framed Matt?”
