Chương 8
I realized how much I missed normal.
Not my old life.
Not Julian.
Just normal.
Marcus arrived around noon.
This time, he brought the briefcase.
I knew immediately he was prepared.
"That expression means bad news," I said.
Marcus sat down.
"It means information."
"That is lawyer language."
"Yes."
"Which usually means bad news."
He opened the briefcase.
"Some of it is."
He removed several documents.
"We confirmed the signature."
My stomach tightened.
"The refinance application?"
He nodded.
"It was not your signature."
"Who submitted it?"
"Julian's assistant."
I stared at him.
"Victoria?"
"No."
That surprised me.
"Someone else?"
"His executive assistant, Natalie."
I frowned.
"Natalie has worked for him for years."
"Yes."
"Why would she do that?"
Marcus looked at the papers.
"That is what we are investigating."
I leaned back.
There was a strange comfort in having facts.
Painful facts were still easier than uncertainty.
"What about Julian?"
"He signed the request."
"With the false signature?"
"Yes."
The room felt very still.
"So he knew."
"Most likely."
Not certainty.
Marcus was careful.
I appreciated that.
But I heard what he was not saying.
The evidence was pointing in one direction.
"What was he trying to do?"
"Increase the loan against the property."
"Why?"
Marcus opened another file.
"Because he was trying to free up cash."
"For what?"
He looked at me.
"Victoria's company."
I stared.
"What?"
"Julian invested money into her design business."
The words moved slowly.
Like my brain needed time to accept them.
"How much?"
"Significant amounts."
"From his accounts?"
"Some."
Marcus paused.
"Some from joint resources."
The room went quiet.
The betrayal had changed shape again.
The wedding had been personal.
The fake signature was legal.
This was something else.
This was my life being used while I was still living inside it.
"How long?"
"We are tracing it."
"Marcus."
"I know."
"No."
I looked at him.
"I need to know."
He held my gaze.
"At least eight months."
Eight months.
I looked down.
Eight months ago, Julian had taken me to dinner for our anniversary.
He had given me a necklace.
He had said he wanted us to start traveling more.
I had believed him.
Because why would I not?
The human mind protects itself.
It does not immediately assume the person beside you is building an exit plan.
"What about Victoria?" I asked.
Marcus closed the folder.
"We have not proven she knew."
I nodded.
That answer mattered.
Because anger wanted everyone involved.
But truth required more.
I did not want revenge.
I wanted accuracy.
"What do you think?" I asked.
Marcus looked surprised.
"About Victoria?"
"Yes."
He considered.
"I think she is involved."
"Involved is not the same as guilty."
"No."
He nodded.
"But she benefited."
I looked away.
Victoria.
The young woman who used to sit across from my desk with nervous hands and unfinished sketches.
I remembered telling her that talent was not enough.
You needed patience.
You needed discipline.
You needed humility.
I had believed I was helping someone become successful.
I never imagined I was teaching someone how to replace me.
But even that thought felt too simple.
People were rarely only one thing.
Maybe Victoria had ambition.
Maybe she had feelings.
Maybe she had convinced herself that Julian's marriage was already over.
People could create entire realities if they needed permission to do something.
The question was not only what they did.
It was what they told themselves while doing it.
Marcus packed the documents away.
"There is something else."
I looked at him.
"Of course there is."
He ignored the comment.
"Julian has requested access to the house."
My expression changed.
"Access?"
"He claims he needs personal items."
"When?"
"Today."
I looked at Eleanor.
She looked back at me.
Neither of us spoke.
Because we both understood.
The house was not just a house anymore.
It was the place where Julian thought he still belonged.
And I suddenly realized something.
He had not called because he missed me.
He had called because he wanted to know what I knew.
He wanted to know whether the door was still open.
He wanted to know whether the woman he left behind was still the same person who would welcome him home.
I looked at Marcus.
"Let him go."
Eleanor looked surprised.
"Genevieve."
I raised a hand.
"But I want someone there."
Marcus nodded.
"Of course."
"And I want everything documented."
His expression changed slightly.
Not approval.
Respect.
"Understood."
I looked toward the window.
The hospital room no longer felt like a prison.
It felt like the place where I had finally stopped waiting.
"Tell him he can come."
I paused.
"But do not tell him I am there."
Eleanor watched me carefully.
"Why?"
I looked down at my hands.
Because I wanted to see him walk into the life he thought he had won.
Because I wanted to know whether he would recognize what he had destroyed.
Because sometimes people only understand the value of something when they believe they have lost it.
"Because I want to see what Julian does when he thinks nobody is watching."
Because sometimes the truth only appears when people stop performing.
Two days later, I sat in the back seat of Eleanor's car wearing a loose sweater, sunglasses, and the expression of someone who had not just survived open-heart surgery.
The doctor would have hated the decision.
Marcus hated it slightly less because he had reviewed the plan.
Eleanor hated it completely.
"You have to admit this is a terrible idea," she said while driving.
I looked out the window.
"Yes."
She glanced at me.
"That was too easy."
"It is a terrible idea."
"Then why are we doing it?"
I watched familiar streets pass by.
"Because it is my house."
Eleanor tightened her hands on the steering wheel.
"It was your house."
I looked at her.
She sighed.
"Sorry."
"No."
I looked back outside.
"You're right."
May you like
That was the strangest part of everything.
I had spent years thinking of home as a place.
