Chương 5
I looked at the ivory folder on the island.
“She said the payment was for catering and flowers.”
“That’s what she told me too.”
Celeste hesitated.
“But the vendor refused to confirm the contract.”
A chill moved through me.
“Which vendor?”
“The company on the revised paperwork.”
“DMC Lifestyle Services?”
“Yes.”
“That is Diane’s company.”
Silence.
Then Celeste said, very softly, “Oh.”
I stood.
“Celeste, did you send Diane any money?”
“No.”
“Did anyone?”
“Not through me.”
Something in her tone made me stop.
“What are you not saying?”
She exhaled.
“Chase asked me last month whether wedding deposits could be refunded to a different account if a vendor canceled.”
Mara stopped chewing.
“What did you tell him?”
“That refunds go back according to the contract and payment method whenever possible.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“He said he was comparing contingency plans.”
Her voice cracked slightly.
“I’m sorry.”
I closed my eyes.
“That is not your fault.”
Even as I said it, I was not certain whether I believed that.
Celeste continued.
“There’s something else.”
I waited.
“Yesterday, Chase asked me for copies of every invoice you personally paid.”
The room seemed to narrow around me.
“Did he say why?”
“He said he was organizing records for taxes.”
I looked at Mara.
She had stopped eating completely.
“Did you send them?”
“No.”
For the first time that morning, I felt a thin line of relief.
Then Celeste added, “But Diane already had copies of some of them.”
I looked toward the office where the ivory folder had been.
“How?”
“I don’t know.”
I did.
Or at least I knew where I needed to look next.
Chase had lived in my home for almost two years.
He had access to the desk where I kept personal statements, tax documents, insurance files, and investment correspondence.
Suddenly, eighteen thousand dollars did not feel like the problem.
It felt like the first amount I had noticed.
I went straight to the desk drawer where I kept the documents I was too cautious to throw away and too lazy to scan.
The hanging folders were still there.
Insurance.
Taxes.
Property.
Investments.
I pulled them out one by one and spread the contents across the floor.
Mara crouched beside me without speaking.
The tax folder looked normal until I reached the prior year's return.
The stapled copy had been disturbed.
I knew because I always placed the state return behind the federal one, and now the pages were reversed.
That was not proof.
It was barely even evidence.
It was something smaller and more irritating.
A fingerprint made of habit.
“Do you keep originals here?” Mara asked.
“Copies.”
“Anything with account numbers?”
“Some.”
I opened the investment folder.
Two quarterly statements were missing.
My stomach tightened.
The statements themselves would not give anyone direct access to the accounts, but they contained balances, partial numbers, addresses, and enough personal information to help someone sound convincing.
I checked the property file next.
The deed copy was there.
The mortgage statement was not.
“Could you have moved it?” Mara asked.
“Yes.”
She looked at me.
“Did you?”
“No.”
I stood too quickly and hit my shoulder on the desk.
The pain was sharp and stupid.
I swore.
Mara sat back on her heels.
“Okay.”
“Do not say okay like that.”
“Like what?”
“Like you’re about to tell me something calm and reasonable.”
“I was going to tell you to stop tearing through everything for five minutes.”
“No.”
“Whitney.”
“No.”
She rose.
“You’re not investigating a client.”
“I’m aware.”
“You’re acting like you aren’t.”
I turned on her.
“Someone has been going through my financial records.”
“Maybe.”
“Pages are missing.”
“Then document that.”
“I am documenting it.”
“You’re also shaking.”
I looked down.
She was right.
My hands were trembling again.
That made me furious.
I pressed them flat against the desk.
Mara’s voice softened.
“You don’t have to solve every piece before lunch.”
“I need to know what they did.”
“You need to know what they can still do.”
That stopped me.
She pointed toward my phone.
“Credit reports.”
I stared at her.
Then I moved.
Within twenty minutes, I had frozen my credit with the three major bureaus, changed passwords on my primary email and financial accounts, added new authentication methods, and contacted my bank’s fraud department.
The wedding account was the most complicated because Chase was a joint owner.
I could not simply erase him from it.
The bank representative told me I could close my participation or request restrictions depending on account terms, but disputed transfers between authorized owners would require review.
I knew that.
Hearing it said aloud still felt personal.
The representative also confirmed something that made the room colder.
Two days earlier, someone had attempted to increase the daily transfer limit on the account.
The request had failed because additional verification was required.
“Was the request initiated under my login?” I asked.
“I can’t determine that from what I see here.”
“Can you preserve the access logs?”
“I can note the account for investigation.”
“I need the IP and device records preserved.”
There was a pause.
“Those would require our internal process, and possibly legal process depending on what’s requested.”
“Please make the notation.”
“I can do that.”
After the call, Mara leaned against the bookshelf.
“So they were trying to move more.”
“Someone was.”
“You know what I meant.”
“I do.”
I hated that she was right.
At eleven forty-seven, the locksmith arrived.
His name was Dennis.
He had a red beard, a tool bag covered in faded stickers, and the distracted manner of a man already thinking about his next appointment.
He replaced the deadbolt while talking to Mara about parking regulations.
Neither of them mentioned why he was there.
I appreciated that more than sympathy.
When he handed me the new keys, I held them too tightly.
“They work better if you don’t bend them,” he said.
I looked at my fist.
“Right.”
He smiled.
May you like
“Rough morning?”
“You could say that.”
