Chương 11
“I don’t know.”
“You have a guess.”
She breathed slowly.
“Debt.”
“How much?”
“I don’t know.”
“Personal?”
“Business, mostly.”
“Mostly?”
“He has credit cards I don’t see.”
My mind shifted into the cold organizing mode I trusted professionally and sometimes hated personally.
“What accounts are joint?”
“Our checking and mortgage.”
“Does he have access to your savings?”
“Yes.”
“How much is there?”
“About nine thousand.”
“Move half to an account in your name tomorrow.”
She inhaled sharply.
“Emily.”
“I am not telling you to steal anything.”
“It’s our money.”
“Exactly.”
“He’ll see the transfer.”
“Yes.”
“He’ll lose his mind.”
“Then talk to a lawyer before you do anything.”
“A lawyer?”
The word seemed to terrify her.
“You just said you’re worried he’s hiding debt and controlling access to financial information.”
“I’m not divorcing him.”
“I didn’t say you were.”
“That’s why people call lawyers.”
“No.”
I softened my voice.
“That’s why people call lawyers after waiting too long.”
She did not answer.
I looked at the screenshots again.
“Send me the missing messages.”
A minute passed.
Then four images arrived.
The first was from February.
Ryan: Need the lake place Thursday.
Jessica: No.
Ryan: This could save the company.
Jessica: Ask her.
Ryan: Stop saying that.
Jessica: Because you know she would say no.
Ryan: She does not even know who these people are.
Jessica: Neither do I.
Ryan: Investors.
Jessica: What kind?
Ryan: The kind with money.
The next screenshot came from the following day.
Jessica: Do NOT tell them it belongs to you.
Ryan: Jesus Christ.
Jessica: Promise me.
Ryan: Fine.
Jessica: Promise.
Ryan: It belongs to the family.
Jessica: RYAN.
There was no answer beneath that.
I read the exchange twice.
“Who were the investors?”
“I don’t know.”
“Were you there?”
“For dinner.”
“How many people?”
“Three men and a woman.”
“Names?”
“One was Preston.”
“First or last?”
“I think last.”
“What happened?”
“They ate.”
“That’s not what I mean.”
“I left early with Chloe.”
“Why?”
Jessica hesitated.
“Ryan was drinking.”
My stomach tightened.
“Was he drunk?”
“Not when I left.”
“What was being discussed?”
“Some development project.”
“Where?”
“I don’t know.”
“Did they invest?”
“I don’t know.”
“You never asked?”
“Of course I asked.”
Her frustration spilled through the phone.
“He told me it didn’t work out.”
I rubbed my forehead.
“What did the woman do?”
“What?”
“You remember one woman among three men.”
“She barely spoke.”
“Name?”
“I don’t remember.”
“Anything about her?”
A longer pause.
“She took pictures.”
I stopped moving.
“Of what?”
“The house.”
“Inside?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“I thought she liked the design.”
That explanation might have been perfectly innocent.
It might also have been exactly what Jessica needed to believe in the moment.
“Did Ryan stop her?”
“No.”
“Did anyone photograph documents?”
“I didn’t see any documents.”
I walked toward the dining room.
The table was scratched near one corner where somebody had dragged something heavy across it.
I had noticed the mark weeks earlier in a photo Jessica sent me of Chloe doing homework.
At the time, I had assumed I caused it.
Now I was no longer sure.
“Emily?”
“I’m here.”
“What are you going to do?”
“I’m going to sleep.”
She actually laughed.
It was a startled, exhausted sound.
“You?”
“Eventually.”
“You never sleep when you’re mad.”
“You apparently know me better than I thought.”
“Some things.”
The sadness in those two words slowed me down.
We had spent the entire day discovering how little we knew about each other.
“You should get some rest too.”
“I don’t think I can.”
“Is Ryan still downstairs?”
“Yes.”
“Does he know you sent me the screenshots?”
“No.”
“Keep it that way tonight.”
“You said not to hide things.”
“I said don’t warn him to delete messages.”
“That sounds like hiding.”
“It is.”
I disliked the contradiction as soon as I heard it.
Jessica noticed.
“So now secrecy is okay when you need it.”
“That’s fair.”
Neither of us spoke for several seconds.
“I don’t know how to do this,” she whispered.
The words stripped away the defensiveness.
For the first time, she sounded like my older sister from years ago, sitting cross-legged on the floor of our shared bedroom, admitting she had broken Mom’s necklace and needed help fixing the clasp.
“You don’t have to decide everything tonight.”
“What if he’s done something really bad?”
“Then we deal with what actually happened.”
“We?”
I looked at the unfamiliar business cards spread across my table.
The answer was not simple anymore.
“I’m still angry with you.”
“I know.”
“I don’t trust you with my house.”
“I know.”
“But I’m not leaving you alone in something dangerous just to prove a point.”
Her breath caught.
“That doesn’t mean I rescue you from every consequence.”
“I know.”
This time, I thought she did.
After we hung up, I locked every exterior door, carried my duffel upstairs, and stripped the sheets from my bed even though nobody appeared to have slept there.
I needed something physical to do.
I loaded the washing machine, wiped the kitchen counters, threw away half-eaten food, and stacked the unfamiliar items on the dining table.
At eleven seventeen, while I was replacing the batteries in the electronic door lock, my phone lit up with a text from a number I did not recognize.
Colonel Carter, my name is Lauren Preston.
I was at your lake property in February.
I believe your brother-in-law owes you an explanation.
For several seconds, I assumed the message was from Jessica using somebody else’s phone.
Then a second text arrived.
I got your number from Daniel Miller.
That made me sit down.
Dan knew better than to hand out my number casually.
I typed, Is this urgent?
The response came almost immediately.
I think it could be.
I looked at the new lock assembly spread across the kitchen counter.
Half the screws were still in a plastic bag.
May you like
My first peaceful weekend in months had somehow turned into amateur financial due diligence before midnight.
I called her.
