Chương 5
Twenty-five thousand.
Forty thousand.
Seventeen five.
Thirty-two.
The withdrawals had been small enough relative to the balance that no single transaction had triggered her attention.
Her accountant reconciled taxable activity quarterly, but cash movements from this account were normally something Claire approved herself.
She had been busy during every period Naomi pointed out.
A product launch.
A conference in Seattle.
Her mother’s estate anniversary, when Claire traditionally became useless for several days.
Then pregnancy.
Then morning sickness so severe she had occasionally answered emails from the bathroom floor.
Someone had chosen their moments well.
Claire stopped at a transfer dated September nineteenth.
“Where was I?”
Naomi clicked into a folder.
“I checked your calendar because I wondered the same thing.”
Claire stared at the date.
Chicago.
She had been giving the keynote at a cybersecurity marketing conference.
Ryan had flown with her and complained about the hotel until Claire upgraded their room.
The transfer had been initiated at 8:43 p.m.
She could place herself almost exactly.
At dinner with six executives.
Her phone had been on the table.
Ryan had left early because he said he had a migraine.
Claire’s fingertips pressed against the wood.
Naomi watched her without speaking.
“He had my phone.”
“You don’t know that.”
“He took it back to the hotel because his battery was dead.”
Claire could see the restaurant again.
The too-bright pendant lights.
The plate of untouched salmon.
Ryan leaning down to kiss her temple and asking whether she needed anything from the room.
She had handed him her phone because his digital room key was not loading.
He had returned forty minutes later.
No migraine.
No explanation.
Claire scrolled.
Another date made her stop.
December third.
Seventy-five thousand dollars.
She had been at her obstetrician’s office for the anatomy scan.
Ryan had been there.
So had her phone.
But Grant had also called twice during the appointment.
Ryan had stepped into the hallway to answer.
Claire looked at Naomi.
“He wasn’t doing this alone.”
Naomi leaned back.
“That would be my concern.”
Claire scrolled to the destination.
Front Range Development Partners.
The company name appeared beside five transfers totaling two hundred and six thousand dollars.
“What is it?”
“I searched the Colorado business registry.”
Naomi opened another tab.
The filing listed Grant Mercer as manager.
Claire expected that.
Then she read the second name.
Ryan Mercer.
Her husband had been registered as a managing member for fourteen months.
Claire sat perfectly still.
Ryan had told her he had no involvement in Grant’s business because he considered his father impossible to work with.
He had said it so often that Claire could hear the exact weary laugh he used afterward.
Naomi tapped the screen.
“There’s more.”
Claire did not want more.
She nodded anyway.
“The company purchased a property in Lakewood in May.”
“So?”
“The down payment was made six days after one of the transfers from your account.”
Claire stared at the filing.
“Whose name is on the property?”
“Front Range.”
“What are they doing with it?”
“According to the permit applications, renovating it into three luxury units.”
Claire almost laughed again.
Grant had spent Christmas dinner complaining that banks would not lend to honest developers anymore.
Ryan had nodded sympathetically while slicing the roast Claire had paid for.
Her phone buzzed on the table.
This time it was Brooke.
Claire expected an accusation.
Instead the message contained seven words.
Claire, I need to tell you something.
A second message followed before she could respond.
Ryan is going to say it was me.
Naomi read over Claire’s shoulder.
Neither woman spoke for several seconds.
Then a third message arrived.
And I can prove he’s lying.
Claire did not touch the phone.
Naomi reached across the table and turned it slightly so the screen faced both of them.
“What does she mean?” Naomi asked.
“I don’t know.”
“You believe her?”
Claire looked at Brooke’s name.
“No.”
That answer came quickly.
Then Claire rubbed her thumb against the edge of the table.
“But I believe she’s scared.”
Naomi nodded once.
“That matters.”
Claire typed carefully.
What can you prove?
The reply did not come immediately.
Claire stared at the screen until the letters blurred.
Celeste returned downstairs carrying a blanket and set it over the back of Claire’s chair.
“You’re both doing that thing lawyers do where you forget bodies exist.”
“I’m not a lawyer,” Claire said.
“You’ve been around Naomi too long.”
Celeste pointed toward the kitchen.
“There’s toast.”
“I’m not hungry.”
“That wasn’t a question.”
Claire almost objected, then remembered the hospital nurse telling her to drink water.
She stood because obeying someone harmless felt easier than deciding what to do about Brooke.
The kitchen lights were too bright.
Celeste buttered toast while Claire leaned against the counter and watched the toaster click up another slice.
For a minute, nobody mentioned money, Ryan, Grant, or police.
Franklin wandered in, sniffed Claire’s shoe, then sat beside her as if temporarily reconsidering his position on strangers.
Claire tore off a corner of toast and ate it.
Her stomach accepted the food reluctantly.
The baby shifted.
Claire placed her palm against the movement.
She had spent the last several months imagining Ryan doing the same thing.
He had talked to the baby at night when he thought Claire was asleep.
Mostly nonsense.
Scores from games.
Complaints about traffic.
Once, an entire argument about whether pineapple belonged on pizza.
Those memories now felt contaminated, but not false.
That was worse.
Ryan had not been pretending every second.
A person could be gentle at midnight and cruel at dinner.
Claire had not known how to hold both truths.
Her phone vibrated.
Brooke had sent a photograph.
Claire opened it.
The image showed a laptop screen displaying what appeared to be an email thread.
Ryan’s name appeared at the top.
The subject line read PAYMENT SCHEDULE.
Naomi came into the kitchen.
“Forward that to me.”
Claire did.
Then another image arrived.
May you like
This one showed a text exchange.
Grant: She won’t notice if you keep it under fifty.
