“Jilly,” Ellie prodded. “Out with it.”
Jill set the bottle down with a sigh. “I don’t know. There might be something, but it’s complicated.”
She rose to get the printouts from her bag. When she returned, they pushed the pizza box aside and spread everything across the coffee table. Jill explained the things she’d uncovered, fitting together what she’d learned about the house Marc had built, what Chase had told her, and what she’d overheard at the Yacht Club, but there were still gaping holes in the story. Holes that clouded the truth.
“It didn’t make sense to me that Marc would be content with a single house in Dewberry Beach. He doesn’t work that way,” Jill finished as she sifted through the pages. “I may have found something but I’m not entirely sure.”
She slid a page to Ellie, who set her beer down and frowned. “What am I looking at?”
“It’s a plat map of four adjoining properties Marc owned in Mantoloking. I think it’s where he wanted to put a development. I think Dewberry was part of a larger plan.”
“Why would he spread out like that?”
“For one thing, oceanfront property at the shore is wildly expensive, especially at Dewberry Beach, so maybe he couldn’t afford it. But—and this is more likely—I think they wouldn’t sell him what he needed.”
Jill told Ellie what she’d learned, about Dianne’s connections to Dewberry Beach and how Marc had used them to swindle property from hurricane victims. That after getting zoning approval from Dianne’s father, Marc had traveled to Trenton to modify the permits, then brought in his own crew to put the house up.
“That’s messed up.” Ellie leaned back, stunned. “How can anyone be that terrible?”
“I should have listened to you, El.” Jill scrubbed her face with her palm. “You’re my best friend and you never liked him. I should have listened.”
“I never liked him because he didn’t treat you well. The business stuff… I had no idea. You couldn’t have known either, so don’t blame yourself.”
“It gets worse.” Jill pointed at the plat maps. “This whole area was underwater after the hurricane.” She passed Ellie a picture showing the new inlet in Mantoloking. “This is what the neighborhood looked like before.”
“Holy mackerel,” Ellie whispered. “Is this right?” She touched the photographs with her fingertips. “Those poor people.”
Jill took a breath. “This is where things get sticky, and I’m not sure if what I think happened really happened.”
“Let’s hear it.” Ellie laid the picture gently on the coffee table.
“The dates suggest Marc bought this land after the hurricane, not before. Which is weird because by then it was completely underwater, unbuildable and worthless.”
“Why would he do that?”
“Before the hurricane, it was waterfront. See?” Jill pointed to the map again. “That’s Barnegat Bay right there. Waterfront.”
“I don’t get it, Jilly.”
“Okay.” Jill sat in the chair across from her friend. “Because this was waterfront before the hurricane, it was reasonable to expect it would be after. Officials expected floodwaters to recede and the coastline to return to normal eventually. But it didn’t, and it never will. The force of the hurricane changed the coastline, so the land Marc bought is still underwater and worthless—or it was.” She took a breath to organize her thoughts. She was about to accuse her husband of something so horrible that it made her careful. “I found this deed in the County Tax Assessor’s digital archive.” She lifted a page from the pile. “Marc’s company bought a block of the most severely damaged properties along the new inlet. That was in 2013, right after the hurricane.”
“Okay.” Ellie took the page. “So what does it say?”
Jill pointed to the deed she’d printed. “He told the judge at arbitration that he didn’t have any personal assets, but this says he did. He lied, El. To a judge.”
Ellie squinted at the page. “Who’s Cushman Lawrence the third?”
Jill rolled her eyes. “Technically, he’s the staff attorney for Marc’s company—he and his wife are the ones who took out the mortgage in my name.”
Ellie’s expression hardened but she didn’t interrupt.
“This is where it gets tricky because the rest of it is so technical.” She went back to her papers. “I found a buy-out program that provides money to homeowners who’d needed it, who’d lost everything. There were a million programs after the hurricane: programs, subprograms, charities and loans, state and federal and private. One of them—”
“I get it, Jilly. Can you narrow it down?”
Jill shot Ellie a look. “Do you have any idea how long it took me to sift through all of this?”
“And I’m glad you did. But can you summarize?”
“Fine. In the financial packet that Marc submitted was a document from the state declaring the Mantoloking property worthless.”
“That’s when he lied?”
“Not yet. His lie comes later.”
“Okay, then. Keep going.”
“After the hurricane, programs were set up to help residents whose homes had been destroyed and were funded without a proper plan for distribution.” Jill rose from her seat and began to pace. “And all that money attracted the wrong kind of people, so the state added restrictions. One of the biggest was that commercial property wasn’t eligible. So if you did submit commercial property, your claim would be rejected right away and you’d get a letter like this one.” Jill scooped a page from the table. “I think this is the document Marc showed the judge.”
“A rejection?”
“Yes, but the thing is, Marc wouldn’t have accepted a rejection, especially with that much money involved. He would have appealed the decision—he appealed decisions all the time. So I kept looking.”
“And?”
“Two years ago, the property classification changed again. And just like that, Marc’s commercial property became residential and was now eligible for state money.” She lifted another paper from the pile and offered it to Ellie. “Marc submitted a claim and this time, the state paid.”
“So the financial packet is wrong?”
