Chương 13
I closed my eyes.
There had never been an investment.
Not one I knew about.
“Did you ever speak to me about it?”
“No.”
“Did that not strike you as strange?”
“It did.”
“And?”
“And I told myself married people have private arrangements.”
The sentence was almost reasonable.
That made it worse.
“Why didn’t you ask me?”
“Because I didn’t want the answer.”
There was no defense after that.
Just fear dressed as etiquette.
Robert pointed to my personal account number on the image.
“How would Daniel have initiated a transfer without being authorized?”
I repeated the question.
Lauren said, “I don’t know.”
“Did he ever talk about my phone?”
“No.”
“My banking app?”
“No.”
“My passwords?”
“No.”
Then she stopped.
“Wait.”
“What?”
“He complained once about two-factor authentication.”
My stomach tightened.
“When?”
“Last year.”
“Context?”
“We were at Mom’s.”
“He was trying to log into something.”
“What?”
“I thought his own account.”
“What did he say?”
Lauren hesitated.
“He said you had everything locked down like Fort Knox.”
Robert and I exchanged a look.
“Anything else?”
“He said he needed your phone every time he moved money.”
The room went cold.
“Every time.”
“That’s what he said.”
I sat down.
Memory did not arrive dramatically.
It came in small, embarrassing fragments.
Daniel asking to borrow my phone because his battery was dead.
Daniel taking it into the kitchen to order dinner.
Daniel using it in bed to look up a restaurant reservation while mine was charging beside him.
Normal marriage behavior.
Trust made access ordinary.
“How many times did he use my phone when I wasn’t watching?”
Robert asked.
“I have no idea.”
“That is not your fault.”
“I know.”
The words annoyed me anyway.
He noticed and stopped.
Lauren spoke more quietly.
“Mariana, call your bank.”
“I’m going to.”
“Now.”
I looked at the time.
It was still within business hours.
Robert was already pulling up the number for my account manager.
“I’ll call you back,” I told Lauren.
“Wait.”
“What?”
“If Aaron contacts you, tell me.”
“Why would he contact me?”
“Because he liked you.”
I almost laughed.
“He barely spoke to me.”
“That’s why he liked you.”
“What does that mean?”
“He thought you were the only one who didn’t ask him for anything.”
The absurdity of that nearly made me angry.
“I paid his car payment.”
“He told himself that was Daniel.”
Of course he did.
Lauren continued.
“If he’s scared enough, he might think you’re the safest person to call.”
“I am not safe for him.”
“I know that.”
“Does he?”
She didn’t answer.
I ended the call.
My bank manager picked up after Robert identified himself and explained that we had a suspected unauthorized transfer.
The tone changed immediately.
She stopped sounding conversational.
She verified my identity using information Daniel did not have.
Then she asked the date and amount.
I gave both.
Keyboard clicks followed.
“I see the transfer.”
“Was it initiated from my mobile app?”
Another pause.
“Yes.”
My stomach tightened.
“Device?”
“I can’t disclose detailed security logs over an ordinary call.”
“Can you tell me whether it came from a recognized device?”
“Yes.”
“It did.”
My mouth went dry.
“So my phone.”
“Possibly.”
“Possibly?”
“A recognized device could be a phone or another enrolled device.”
“I only use one phone.”
“Then we need to escalate this.”
Robert gestured for me to slow down.
The banker continued.
“I’m placing a security hold on external transfers until we review your access.”
“Do that.”
“I also recommend changing your credentials immediately.”
“I already did.”
“When?”
“Yesterday.”
“Good.”
“Can you tell me where the money went?”
“I can tell you the receiving institution.”
She named the trading platform.
Same one.
“Can you tell me the account holder?”
“No.”
“Even though the transfer originated from me?”
“Not without the appropriate process.”
I closed my eyes.
“Fine.”
She transferred me to fraud services.
I repeated everything.
The specialist asked whether I had willingly given anyone access to my phone.
I looked at Robert.
Marriage turned simple questions into traps.
“My husband knew my passcode.”
“Did you give him permission to initiate this transfer?”
“No.”
“Did you receive any benefit from the transfer?”
“Not that I know of.”
“Did you authorize any investment through that platform?”
“No.”
The specialist was silent for a moment.
“Then I’m opening a claim.”
“What happens now?”
“We review authentication data, device logs, transfer records, and the receiving institution information.”
“How long?”
He gave me a range.
It felt offensively long.
I wanted an answer before sunset.
Instead, I wrote down the case number.
Real institutions did not move at the speed of betrayal.
When the call ended, Robert closed his laptop.
“You need to tell Daniel that you’re disputing it.”
“Why?”
“Because if he did it, his reaction matters.”
“For what?”
“For you.”
I looked at him.
He shrugged.
“Not legally.”
“You’re not a detective.”
“No.”
“Or a therapist.”
“Thank God.”
I almost smiled.
Then the office door opened.
Nia stood there with a folder in one hand.
She looked at my face and stopped.
“Bad time?”
“Yes.”
She nodded.
Then glanced at Robert.
“Very bad time?”
“Yes.”
She put the folder on a side table.
“I’ll move your four o’clock.”
“I can still—”
“No.”
“Nia.”
“You pay me to make good decisions when you’re making bad ones.”
Robert looked impressed.
I pointed at the door.
“Both of you are becoming unbearable.”
Nia left.
Robert stayed.
I called Daniel.
He answered on the second ring.
“Hey.”
“Where are you?”
“At work.”
“Are you alone?”
“No.”
“Get alone.”
Silence.
Then movement.
A door shut.
“Okay.”
I looked at the photo of the handwritten page.
“Do you have an investment account?”
Daniel said nothing.
My chest tightened.
“Answer me.”
“Yes.”
“Which platform?”
He named it.
Same one.
I felt something in me drop.
“How long have you had it?”
“About two years.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“It was supposed to be temporary.”
“An account is not temporary.”
May you like
“The investing was.”
“What investing?”
