Chương 4
“The wedding deposits create a legitimate reason for a transfer,” she said.
The sentence was so calmly delivered that it took me a moment to understand it.
“A legitimate reason?”
“The money can pass through the event account.”
“Pass through to where?”
Julian pushed away from the door. “Mom.”
“She deserves honesty.”
“No,” I said. “You both decided I deserved a story about flowers.”
Eleanor ignored the interruption.
“Once the wedding vendors are paid, adjustments can be made. Refunds, credits, revised contracts. Funds can be redirected without alarming the lender.”
I stared at her.
“You want me to send wedding money so you can move it into Julian’s company.”
“We want to protect an asset that will soon belong to your family.”
“My company is the asset you’re trying to drain.”
“Your company has substantial cash reserves.”
“You looked at my accounts?”
Julian’s eyes dropped.
The room became very quiet.
“How do you know what my company has?”
“Maya—”
“How?”
He moved his jaw from side to side.
I had seen that habit when he lied. He did not rub his nose or avoid eye contact like people claimed liars did. He worked his jaw as if reshaping the words before letting them out.
“You left a report open.”
“Where?”
“At home.”
“I do not bring reserve reports home.”
“Your laptop.”
“My laptop locks automatically.”
“You gave me the password.”
“For the streaming account.”
“You use variations.”
My mouth went dry.
Six months earlier, my office manager, Kira, had asked why someone attempted to access our payroll dashboard from an unfamiliar device. I changed the password and blamed a vendor integration. Julian had said cybercriminals were getting sophisticated.
The lemon slice floated in the untouched glass on the table.
“Did you try to get into my company account?”
“No.”
“Did you?”
“I looked at a report.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
“I did not transfer anything.”
The wording told me enough.
I moved toward the door.
He blocked me again.
“Stop,” he said.
“Move.”
“Just listen.”
“I have listened for two years.”
His hands opened, palms out, the universal gesture of the reasonable man confronting an unreasonable woman.
“I am not stealing from you.”
“You tried to access my business account.”
“I was checking our options.”
“My company employs twenty-three people. Their paychecks are not your option.”
“They wouldn’t miss payroll.”
“You don’t know that.”
“You have more than enough liquidity.”
“You don’t know what is owed, what is reserved, or what is restricted.”
“I know the balance.”
My skin went cold.
He heard himself.
For the first time that afternoon, he looked frightened.
Not sorry. Frightened.
“How do you know the balance?” I asked.
“Maya, don’t—”
“How do you know?”
Eleanor stepped closer.
“You are focusing on the least important part of this.”
I turned on her.
“He accessed my account.”
“He attempted to understand the financial position of the woman he is marrying.”
“Without permission.”
“Marriage requires transparency.”
“Then show me Julian’s books.”
Her expression hardened.
“That is not relevant.”
I laughed once. I could not help it.
Julian reached toward me.
I stepped back before he touched my arm.
“Don’t.”
He lowered his hand.
His phone vibrated again.
This time none of us pretended not to hear it.
“Five o’clock,” Eleanor said. “That is the deadline.”
“What happens at five?”
Julian did not answer.
“What happens?”
“The lender files,” he said.
“Files what?”
“A default notice.”
“And then?”
“They can petition to take control of the company assets.”
“And your shares.”
“Yes.”
“What else?”
He looked toward the window.
“Julian.”
“There are personal guarantees.”
My throat tightened.
“How much?”
“Not all of it.”
“How much did you personally guarantee?”
“One point four.”
“Million?”
He closed his eyes briefly.
My knees felt unreliable.
I sat on the edge of the sofa because I did not want them to watch me fall. The bag stayed pressed against my side.
One point four million dollars.
I pictured our house in Seattle, the one I had bought before meeting him. I pictured the baby’s unfinished room, boxes of wallpaper samples on the floor. I pictured the folder of documents Julian had left beside my breakfast plate three weeks earlier, saying our estate plan needed “routine updates before the birth.”
I had not signed them.
He had been irritated for two days.
“Did those documents put my house up as collateral?”
“No.”
The answer was immediate.
Too immediate.
“Did they?”
“They were standard marital planning documents.”
“We are not married.”
“They would only take effect after—”
“Did they give you authority over my assets?”
He glanced at Eleanor again.
I pressed one hand to my mouth.
The room smelled suddenly thick with lilies and lemon and something hot from the kitchen.
“I need air,” I said.
“We can open the terrace,” Eleanor replied.
“I need to leave.”
“Not until we resolve the transfer.”
“There will be no transfer.”
Julian crossed the room and crouched in front of me. He placed his hands on his knees, careful not to touch me. His voice changed. Lower. Intimate. The voice he used in bed when he was apologizing for working late.
“May, listen to me.”
He only called me May when he wanted something.
“The company is not failing,” he said. “We have contracts. We have enterprise clients. This lender came in at the wrong moment and they’re using the timing to force control. If I lose the company now, everything we built toward disappears.”
“We?”
“You supported me.”
“I paid your rent.”
“You believed in me.”
“I did.”
The past tense reached him.
His eyes flickered.
“I need you to believe in me one more time.”
“How many times is one more?”
He leaned closer.
“When the contract closes, I repay everything. Your wedding expenses. The office rent. This bridge. All of it.”
“What contract?”
He hesitated.
“Who is the client?”
May you like
“Nexora Health.”
I knew the name. Everyone in his circle knew it. A national healthcare technology company with enough money to make Julian’s startup look viable overnight.
