Chương 8
He turned the phone toward her.
She read the message.
Her face changed.
“Who sent that?”
“I don’t know.”
Her fingers moved toward her mouth.
Robert watched her carefully.
Because whatever came next, he knew one thing.
The story he had heard so far was only the part Derek wanted them to believe.
The message sat on Robert’s phone screen for almost a minute.
Neither of them moved.
The words were simple.
That was what made them unsettling.
There was no accusation.
No dramatic warning.
No explanation.
Just a sentence from someone who knew there was something hidden.
“I think you need to know what Derek has been hiding.”
Gaby looked at her father.
“Delete it.”
Robert blinked.
“What?”
“Delete it.”
Her voice was immediate.
Not angry.
Afraid.
Robert lowered the phone slightly.
“Why?”
“Because people don’t send messages like that unless they want something.”
“That doesn’t mean they’re wrong.”
“It also doesn’t mean they’re helping.”
Robert studied her.
She was right.
That was the kind of thing he would have said in a business meeting.
Never trust information from someone whose motives you do not understand.
But hearing the same logic from his daughter made him uncomfortable.
Because she had learned it from somewhere.
Probably from being disappointed.
“Do you recognize the number?” he asked.
She shook her head.
“No.”
“Have you seen it before?”
“No.”
Robert looked at the screen again.
The number had no name attached.
No photo.
Nothing.
Just ten digits.
“Maybe it’s someone who knows him,” he said.
Gaby looked away.
“Everyone knows something about Derek.”
The way she said it bothered him.
“What does that mean?”
She folded her arms.
“It means people notice things.”
“Like what?”
She hesitated.
“Like how he talks to people.”
“Explain.”
Gaby looked toward the window.
“He can make anyone feel like they’re the problem.”
Robert thought about the night before.
The way Derek had arrived.
The calm voice.
The careful words.
The way he had never once asked if Gaby was okay.
“He’s good at convincing people,” she continued.
“His mother is better.”
Robert looked at her.
“His mother?”
Gaby nodded.
“She always knows what to say.”
“About you?”
“About everyone.”
Robert sat back.
“Tell me about her.”
Gaby sighed.
“Her name is Karen.”
“What does she have to do with this?”
“Almost everything.”
The answer came too quickly.
Robert waited.
“She never liked me.”
“Why?”
Gaby gave a small shrug.
“At first, I thought she was just protective of Derek.”
“That’s normal.”
“I know.”
She looked down.
“But it wasn’t that.”
“What was it?”
“She thought I was taking him away.”
Robert frowned.
“From what?”
“From her.”
The sentence sounded strange.
But Gaby’s expression told him it was not.
“Derek talked to his mother about everything.”
“Marriage problems?”
“Yes.”
“Before talking to you?”
“Sometimes.”
Robert rubbed his jaw.
“That’s unhealthy.”
Gaby nodded.
“I know that now.”
Another phrase that bothered him.
Now.
Meaning there was a time she did not.
“She would call me.”
“When?”
“After arguments.”
“What would she say?”
Gaby looked uncomfortable.
“Things.”
“What things?”
“She would say Derek loved me.”
“That sounds harmless.”
“At first.”
Robert waited.
“She would say he was under pressure.”
“She would say I needed to be more understanding.”
“She would say I was lucky to have a husband who cared so much.”
Robert felt his expression harden.
“And you believed her?”
Gaby looked at him.
“Sometimes.”
“Why?”
“Because she sounded like she was helping.”
That was the problem.
Harm rarely announced itself.
Sometimes it arrived wearing concern.
Robert stood and walked toward the kitchen counter.
He needed movement.
Sitting still made him feel trapped.
“What is Derek hiding?”
Gaby looked at the phone.
“I don’t know.”
“But you have an idea.”
She did not answer.
Robert turned around.
“Gaby.”
She closed her eyes.
“He lied about his job.”
Robert stopped.
“What?”
“He told me he was doing better than he was.”
“How much better?”
“I don’t know.”
“You lived with him.”
“I know.”
The frustration in her voice surprised him.
Not toward him.
Toward herself.
“I know how it sounds.”
“Then help me understand.”
“He always handled everything.”
She looked at the floor.
“Bills.”
“Appointments.”
“Paperwork.”
“He made it seem like I was helping by not worrying.”
Robert nodded slowly.
“And you trusted him.”
“Yes.”
“Until?”
“Until things started disappearing.”
“What things?”
“My jewelry.”
Robert’s eyes narrowed.
“Your jewelry?”
“Not much.”
“How much?”
“Some pieces.”
“What kind?”
She hesitated.
“A necklace you gave me.”
Robert went quiet.
He remembered.
A small gold necklace.
He had given it to her when she graduated college.
Nothing expensive.
Just something personal.
She had worn it for years.
“What did he say?”
“That he sold it.”
“Why?”
“He said we needed money.”
Robert looked at her.
“Did you know about that?”
“No.”
“When did you find out?”
“After.”
“How?”
“I found the receipt.”
Robert stared.
“Where?”
“In his desk.”
The room became quiet.
A receipt.
A small piece of paper.
A detail that might have meant nothing in another life.
But now it felt like another crack.
“Did you confront him?”
“Yes.”
“What happened?”
“He said I was overreacting.”
Robert let out a slow breath.
There it was again.
The same pattern.
The same words.
The same turning of reality.
“Did he ever apologize?”
Gaby looked at him.
“Not for the things he did.”
The answer landed heavily.
“What did he apologize for?”
She looked away.
“For upsetting me.”
Robert understood.
A person could apologize for the storm without admitting they were the one who opened the door.
His phone buzzed again.
Both of them looked.
Another message.
Same number.
This time, there was a photograph.
Robert opened it.
The image showed a document.
A bank statement.
The quality was poor, taken quickly from a phone.
But one thing was clear.
The name at the top.
Gaby Hale.
Robert zoomed in.
His heart rate changed.
There was an account.
An account he had never heard about.
A transfer.
May you like
A large one.
Then another.
