The Life She Wants by Robyn Carr Page A

something was wrong. There had been a couple of emergencies; maybe that was setting everyone on edge.
    The static turned to an electric crackle. Emma tried not to notice but she was beginning to feel paranoid by the behavior around her.
    It didn’t last long. It was two in the afternoon, about an hour until shift change. A patient had been discharged and the room was ready for a terminal cleaning. Emma got her cart, mop, linens, gloves and went to the room. Standing there beside the now empty bed in a room with no other patients was Clarice.
    â€œHow much do you have stashed away?” she asked, her voice hard.
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œYou heard me. How much do you have stashed away? Enough to take care of my elderly mother? Because Hugh and I can’t afford her and she has to live with us now since her entire savings was stolen.”
    â€œWhat are you talking about?” Emma asked, fearing she knew.
    â€œI know who you are, Mrs. Compton. We all know who you are. My mother’s name is Roberta Sinclair and you took everything she had and I think you can find a way to get it back.”
    Oh, no! Even though she’d been over every possible scenario, now Emma didn’t know what to say. She just shook her head. “There’s nothing,” she said. “I have nothing.”
    â€œYou have assets in your name,” Clarice insisted.
    Emma shook her head again. “There’s nothing in my name. Everything was in Richard’s name and the few things that weren’t, I surrendered. All our possessions were auctioned—I surrendered those, as well. Do you honestly think I’d be scrubbing floors in a hospital if I had anything?”
    â€œFor a while, yes,” she said. “You’ll lie low for a while, then when the talk has died off, you’ll tap into your hidden money. I read the book!”
    â€œThe books are wrong! The internet is wrong! Everything is gone—my wedding ring, my wedding gown, wedding gifts—I gave it all back. I’m not lying low—I’m using my legal name. I haven’t even colored my hair! I didn’t know what was going on, Clarice. I had nothing to do with Richard’s business.”
    â€œWhat about offshore money? One of the books says he was about to give the SEC account numbers when—”
    â€œGone. He was trying to negotiate a smaller sentence, but... There’s nothing that I know of, nothing left to me, I swear.”
    â€œThe book says you retained 1.4 million and a lot of valuable property...”
    She was getting dizzy, shaking her head. “I kept a few thousand so I could drive back here and rent a small space. The US Marshals sold everything at auction. Everything. I kept some sheets and towels, a few dishes and pots. I gave most of my clothing to women’s shelters. There’s nothing. Do you think I want to be tied to that hideous crime? I was told that investors got roughly thirty-two cents on the dollar. I couldn’t do anything more.”
    â€œYou’re lying,” Clarice said. “You had lawyers! My mother didn’t have a lawyer, she couldn’t afford one! And she didn’t get that much. She borrowed against her house to invest with Compton!”
    That was not exactly how it worked, as Emma knew from the trial. Richard Compton worked with a number of financial managers and brokers who represented smaller investors, and it was they who invested in his company. Richard didn’t talk anyone into mortgaging their house; he talked hedge fund managers into investing with him and he neither knew nor cared where they got their money. Large sums. Many collections of smaller investors. Richard was big-time. He had a minimum requirement, probably a hundred times the value of Mrs. Sinclair’s mortgage.
    â€œMy lawyer was assigned by the court and he wanted me to keep enough to live on since finding work would be hard, but I didn’t keep anything. I’m