Chương 8
The back door was unlocked.
Scott usually checked it before bed.
I locked it myself.
On the counter, his water bottle still sat beside the torn label.
I threw it away.
That felt absurdly satisfying.
At 10:41, my phone rang.
Jenna.
I watched her name until the call stopped.
A voicemail appeared.
I did not play it.
Thirty seconds later, she called again.
Rebecca came downstairs in socks.
“Who is it?”
I showed her.
“Answer.”
“Maya said don’t assume.”
“She didn’t say become a monk.”
The phone rang a third time.
I answered.
“Claire?”
Jenna sounded breathless.
“Yes.”
“Is Scott there?”
“No.”
A pause.
“Do you know where he is?”
“He said he was going to a hotel.”
“Which one?”
“I didn’t ask.”
Her breathing changed.
“Did he call you?”
“No.”
Another pause.
This one felt different.
“What happened?”
“I need to talk to you.”
“We’re talking.”
“Not on the phone.”
Rebecca shook her head violently.
I ignored her.
“Why?”
“Because I think Scott lied to me.”
A laugh escaped me before I could stop it.
Jenna went silent.
“I’m sorry,” I said, although I wasn’t.
“That sentence is arriving a little late.”
“I deserve that.”
“I’m not interested in what you deserve.”
“No.”
Her voice dropped.
“I suppose you aren’t.”
There was no defensiveness in it, which made me more suspicious, not less.
“What did he lie about?”
“The apartment.”
“I know.”
“And the money.”
I stood.
Rebecca stood too.
“What money?”
“He told me the funds going to Harbor Ridge were his.”
My heartbeat seemed to move into my fingertips.
“How do you know about Harbor Ridge?”
Jenna did not answer immediately.
“Because I opened the account.”
Rebecca covered her mouth.
I walked into the dining room, away from her expression.
“In whose name?”
“Scott’s.”
“Only Scott’s?”
“That’s what I thought.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means I never saw the source account.”
“Jenna.”
“I work in commercial insurance.”
Her words began coming faster.
“I’m not a banker, Claire.”
“I didn’t say you were.”
“He asked me to help him organize some documents because he was separating and everything was messy.”
“My documents?”
“I didn’t know they were yours.”
“The lease application had my driver’s license.”
“I know.”
“You uploaded it.”
“I know.”
“You typed my reason for leaving as an amicable separation.”
Silence.
Then she said, “Yes.”
Rebecca closed her eyes.
I gripped the back of a dining chair.
“Why?”
“Because he told me you refused to handle practical things.”
“That sounds reasonable to you?”
“No.”
The answer came sharply.
“No, it doesn’t sound reasonable now.”
“Did it yesterday?”
“He said you were depressed.”
My throat tightened.
“What?”
“He said you weren’t functioning normally.”
I could hear traffic on her end.
“He said you had agreed to leave but kept avoiding paperwork because accepting the apartment made everything real.”
I could not speak.
Rebecca reached for my arm.
I pulled away without meaning to.
Jenna continued.
“He said you asked him to handle it.”
“So you forged my signature for my own emotional health?”
“No.”
“Then explain it.”
“I didn’t sign your name.”
“Someone did.”
“He sent me the lease already signed.”
“From where?”
“His email.”
“Do you still have it?”
“Yes.”
“Do not delete it.”
“I won’t.”
“Forward it to me.”
She hesitated.
“Now.”
“I’m sending it.”
My phone vibrated.
An email arrived from Jenna with a forwarded thread.
I did not open it yet.
“Why are you calling me instead of Scott?”
“Because he disappeared.”
“He went to a hotel.”
“No.”
My skin prickled.
“What do you mean?”
“I went to the hotel.”
“You knew which one?”
“We were supposed to meet there.”
Of course they were.
The pain of it was surprisingly small beside everything else.
“He never checked in,” Jenna said.
“And his phone is off.”
“Maybe he changed hotels.”
“Maybe.”
Her voice sounded frightened now.
“Except he texted me before he left your house.”
“What did he say?”
Another hesitation.
“That things had gone wrong.”
I waited.
“And that I needed to destroy the copies.”
Rebecca and I looked at each other.
“What copies?”
“The financial documents.”
My mouth went dry.
“Do you have them?”
“Yes.”
“Where?”
“With me.”
“Do not destroy anything.”
“I’m not going to.”
I sank into the chair.
“What exactly do you have?”
“Statements.”
“Whose?”
“I don’t know anymore.”
“You looked at them.”
“Yes, but the pages he gave me were partial.”
“What else?”
“A transfer form.”
I closed my eyes.
“Authorization to distribute?”
“Yes.”
The shredded paper on Daniel’s conference table flashed through my mind.
“Is my signature on it?”
Jenna’s breath caught.
“Claire.”
“Is my signature on that form?”
“Yes.”
I pressed my thumb against the edge of the table until it hurt.
“Did you see me sign it?”
“No.”
“Did Scott tell you I had?”
“Yes.”
“Why did he give it to you?”
“He wanted me to scan it.”
“To Harbor Ridge?”
“Yes.”
“What was supposed to happen after the transfer?”
“He said he was buying you out of the house.”
That made no sense.
“Buying me out with my own money?”
“I didn’t know it was yours.”
“How much?”
“I only saw the first transfer.”
My stomach tightened.
“First?”
“Two hundred and forty thousand.”
Rebecca whispered, “Jesus.”
My father’s inheritance had never been that large.
This was bigger.
Much bigger.
“What second transfer?”
“I don’t know the amount.”
“Was there another authorization?”
“Yes.”
“With my signature?”
“I think so.”
“You think?”
“I didn’t study it.”
I heard the shame in her voice, but it did nothing for me.
“Why would you help him move that much money?”
“Because I believed him.”
“That is not an answer.”
She inhaled.
“No.”
Then her voice changed.
Something exhausted entered it.
“I helped because he told me we were building a life together.”
There it was.
Not innocence.
Not conspiracy.
Something more ordinary and more pathetic.
“He said after the separation was finalized, we’d refinance the house, clear his business debt, and start over.”
May you like
“Business debt?”
Rebecca leaned closer.
