He's right. At least, in theory. I'm trying not to push myself into any major career decisions right now. I need to concentrate on just reconstructing my life and figuring out who I am without all the questions looming over me. But when it does come time to join a world of normalcy again, it’s possible I’ll find that the FBI isn’t where I’m supposed to be at all. Sam often reminds me of the girl I was before I left Sherwood for the last time before entering the academy. I wanted to be an artist. My spirit was free and light, and I wasn’t constantly focused on the intense, massive cases that go to the Bureau rather than more localized investigative organizations.
Maybe Dean is right. Being a private investigator may be exactly what's right for me. I can choose my own cases and won't have to deal with the red tape and exacting protocols of the Bureau. Going up against them has created friction before. It’s appealing to think I could pursue more personal, smaller cases without having to deal with orders and do things at my own pace. At least to an extent.
“Speaking of which,” I say, trying to redirect the conversation, “how are things with you? I don't think we've spoken since you were trying to find that father who went missing in the middle of January.”
"That's a really messed up case. I'm still working on it.”
“No sign of him?”
“Nothing,” Dean confirms. “I have gone through every angle I can possibly think of and followed every lead that's come up. Some of them a few times. And I haven't been able to make any progress. It's like the man just evaporated.”
“It can definitely feel like that,” I sympathize. “But we both know that doesn't happen. There's an explanation, and I'm sure you're going to find it. You just have to keep digging. Is there anything I can help you with?”
"I actually did uncover something I wanted to run past you to see if you had any insights."
"Go ahead," I tell him.
I go back to pinning my phone between my ear and my shoulder to dig through a bin of green peppers. Tonight was calling out for stuffed peppers, so I carefully scan the bin for the ones with the perfect shape.
“Obviously, we went over his financial records and bank accounts and everything from the very beginning. That's one of the first things you do, trying to see if you can track where cards have been used or if there's been any unusual money moving out of accounts,” he starts.
“Right,” I say, stuffing a couple of peppers into a bag.
“And it didn't seem like there was anything unusual. Just absolutely normal transactions right up until the moment when he disappeared. All his credit cards went dark, his bank accounts hadn't been touched, there were no unusual withdrawals in the time leading up to his disappearance,” Dean says.
“That's not usually a good sign,” I say. “People can't function without money. Either he was somehow saving for a long time to make sure he had enough that it couldn't be traced when he left, or he doesn't need money anymore.”
“That's what I thought, too. But without a body, I'm not giving up hope. So, I kept searching, and just the other day, I uncovered another bank account.”
“Of his?” I ask. “Didn't anybody run his social security number and personal information to track down any additional accounts he might have?”
“Yes. That's why we thought we had all of his information. But what we didn't realize is he had opened one under a different social security number.”
“Whose?” I ask.
"His wife's."
"Wait; what? You didn't tell me he's married."
"I didn't know. That wasn't part of the information given to me during the briefing. I asked the mother of his child and his family, and none of them knew either," Dean explains.
"Who is this wife? Has anyone spoken with her?" I ask, finishing selecting my peppers and spinning the bag to close it.
"No one can find her."
I pause.
"No one can find her? She's missing, too?" I ask.
"That would be easier to determine if we could find her to begin with. I was able to dig up her information from the social security number used to open the bank account. From there, I could find a marriage license and show that they got married one week before Mason went missing. But after that, it seems like she just dropped off the planet. The only problem is, she didn't exist before that either. I can't find anything about her other than her birth certificate and that marriage license. So, we don't even know where she was or what she was doing or anything. But here's the thing. That's not even the strangest part,” he tells me.
“It's not?”
“No. When I found the bank account, the police requested the transaction history. Two weeks before Mason disappeared, there was a large withdrawal. A couple thousand dollars. But then two days after he got married, more than three times that amount was deposited back into the account.”
"Is that what he's been using since he's been gone?"
"You would think. It would make sense. But no. That deposit is the last transaction in that account," Dean tells me.
I push my full cart toward the cash registers, taking a second to try to wrap my head around what he’s telling me.
"So, this guy started a bank account at some point and put money in it, then withdrew a bunch of money. Then he married someone no one knew existed, and no one can prove exists other than being born and marrying him. Then he deposited a whole lot of money into the mysterious account and disappeared. But the money hasn't been touched," I recap.
"Exactly."
"You're right. That makes no sense."
"That's what I was afraid you'd say," he sighs.
"I promise I'll think about it and see if anything
