Chapter 3
I ended the call.
Then I opened the banking app.
My password didn’t work.
I tried again.
Wrong password.
A third time.
Locked.
“No.”
Dad came closer.
“What?”
“I can’t get into our account.”
Vanessa stared at me.
“Did he change the password?”
“He shouldn’t be able to without notifying me.”
My hands were already moving.
I called the bank.
The automated system asked for information.
Account number.
Social Security number.
Security verification.
Finally, a woman named Patricia answered.
I put the call on speaker.
“I need to know what happened to my checking account.”
After another security check, Patricia went quiet.
“Mrs. Carter, I see that online access was recently modified.”
“When?”
“This morning.”
My throat tightened.
“By whom?”
“I can see the authorization was completed using the primary account holder credentials.”
“Who is the primary account holder?”
There was a pause.
“Daniel Carter.”
I felt Dad move beside me.
“But my name is on the account.”
“Yes.”
“Can money be transferred without my approval?”
“It depends on the account type.”
“How much is in checking?”
Patricia hesitated.
“Your available balance is one thousand, eight hundred and twelve dollars.”
I stopped breathing.
That morning, there had been more than forty-three thousand dollars.
Dad whispered, “Jesus.”
I forced myself to speak.
“What happened to the money?”
“A transfer was initiated today.”
“How much?”
“Forty-two thousand dollars.”
Vanessa covered her mouth.
“Where?”
“I’m unable to provide destination-account information unless it is an account in your name.”
“Was it transferred to an account in my name?”
“No.”
My knees weakened.
Dad pulled out a chair.
I sat.
“What about savings?”
Patricia checked.
My palms were sweating.
“That account currently has a balance of six hundred and four dollars.”
Yesterday, it had nearly seventy thousand.
I stared at the table.
“No.”
Dad leaned over the phone.
“Where did it go?”
Patricia’s voice remained professional.
“I’m sorry, sir, but I can only discuss details with Mrs. Carter.”
“It’s okay,” I whispered. “He’s my father.”
Patricia continued.
“There was also a wire transfer initiated from savings three business days ago.”
“How much?”
“Sixty-eight thousand five hundred.”
The room disappeared around me.
More than one hundred thousand dollars.
Gone.
That money wasn’t just savings.
Part of it came from my mother.
Mom had died four years earlier.
She left me money from the sale of my grandparents’ house.
Daniel knew what it meant to me.
He knew I had kept most of it untouched because it felt like the last physical piece of her I had.
And he had taken it.
“Can you stop the transfers?”
“The wire has already settled. The transfer from checking may still be under review, but I would need to submit a fraud claim.”
“Do it.”
Patricia began explaining forms.
I barely heard her.
Dad took notes.
When the call ended, I sat motionless.
Vanessa was crying again.
I looked at her.
“Why are you crying?”
“I’m sorry.”
“You didn’t take my money.”
“I might know where some of it went.”
Dad and I both looked at her.
Vanessa sat across from me.
“Daniel told me he was buying a condo.”
My blood turned cold.
“What condo?”
“He said it was for us.”
Dad made a low sound in his throat.
Vanessa kept talking quickly.
“He told me the divorce settlement was almost done and that he wanted a place downtown so we could start fresh.”
“Did you see it?”
“Yes.”
“Where?”
“River North.”
“When?”
“Three weeks ago.”
“Did he buy it?”
“He said he put down a deposit.”
“How much?”
“I don’t know.”
I stared at her.
“Take me there.”
Dad immediately said, “No.”
“I need to see it.”
“I’ll go.”
“It’s my money.”
“Emily—”
“I said I’m going.”
Vanessa looked nervous.
“He may be there.”
“Good.”
Dad pointed at me.
“No punching.”
I looked at his swollen knuckles.
“That rule is for you.”
Despite everything, Vanessa let out a tiny laugh.
It lasted less than a second.
Then the three of us drove downtown.
Dad drove.
I sat in the passenger seat.
Vanessa sat in the back.
Chicago blurred past the windows.
Every red light felt like an insult.
On the way, Vanessa showed me messages.
Daniel had built an entire fictional marriage.
He told her I had moved to Denver.
He said I refused counseling.
He said I emptied one of our accounts.
He said I had demanded half of his retirement.
He even told her my father hated him because Dad blamed Daniel for “failing to save the marriage.”
Dad nearly drove onto the curb when he read that.
“That lying son of a—”
“Watch the road.”
Vanessa kept scrolling.
Then she stopped.
“This one.”
She handed me the phone.
It was from February.
Daniel had written:
EMILY SIGNED. IT’S FINALLY OVER.
Vanessa had replied:
ARE YOU OKAY?
Daniel:
RELIEVED. SAD. MOSTLY RELIEVED.
Then:
I JUST WANT A PEACEFUL LIFE WITH YOU.
I stared at the date.
February 14.
Valentine’s Day.
That evening, Daniel had brought me roses.
He had cooked steak.
We drank wine.
He danced with me in our living room.
Later he told me I was the only person he had ever truly trusted.
I gave the phone back.
“I’m going to be sick.”
Dad pulled over.
I opened the door and leaned out.
Nothing came up.
I just shook.
Dad put his hand on my back.
“I’m sorry, sweetheart.”
I hated those words.
Not because he meant anything wrong.
Because they made this real.
Ten minutes later, we arrived at a luxury residential tower.
Vanessa led us inside.
The doorman recognized her.
“Ms. Lane.”
Then he saw me and Dad.
His smile faded.
“Is Mr. Carter expecting guests?”
My heart stopped.
Mr. Carter.
Vanessa looked at me.
I stepped forward.
“I’m Mrs. Carter.”
The doorman looked confused.
“I’m sorry?”
“Daniel Carter is my husband.”
The poor man didn’t know where to look.
Vanessa quietly said, “Can we go upstairs?”
He hesitated.
“I should call the unit.”
“No,” I said.
Dad touched my arm.
“Emily.”
But the elevator doors opened behind us.
Daniel stepped out.
He was carrying two cardboard boxes.
He stopped dead.
Nobody moved.
There was a bruise forming along his jaw from Dad’s punch.
His eyes went from me to Vanessa to Dad.
“You have got to be kidding me.”
I looked at the boxes.
“What are those?”
Daniel set them down.
“Emily, go home.”
I laughed.
“Which home?”
People in the lobby were watching now.
Daniel lowered his voice.
“Not here.”
I pointed toward the elevator.
“Is that where my mother’s money went?”
His face changed.
That was enough.
I walked toward him.
He blocked me.
“You can’t go upstairs.”
“Move.”
“Emily.”
“Move.”
Dad stepped beside me.
Daniel looked at him.
“You touch me again and I’ll press charges.”
Dad smiled without humor.
“Then you better move before I decide it’s worth it.”
Daniel stepped aside.
Vanessa pressed the elevator button.
We went upstairs together.
No one spoke.
The elevator opened onto the twenty-third floor.
Vanessa walked to unit 2307.
She took out a key.
I stared at it.
“He gave you a key?”
She nodded miserably.
Then she opened the door.
The condo was beautiful.
Floor-to-ceiling windows.
New furniture.
White kitchen.
Expensive artwork.
And photographs.
Dozens of photographs.
Daniel and Vanessa.
Daniel kissing her cheek.
Daniel standing beside her at a Cubs game.
Daniel with his arm around her on a beach.
Daniel and Vanessa beside a Christmas tree.
Christmas.
He told me he had flown to Dallas for work.
I picked up the frame.
My hands shook.
Then I saw another photograph.
A family dinner.
Daniel.
Vanessa.
An older couple I assumed were her parents.
And my husband was wearing the sweater I bought him.
Dad whispered, “Emily.”
But I had noticed something else.
On the kitchen counter were legal documents.
I walked toward them.
Daniel came through the door behind us.
“Don’t touch those.”
I reached first.
He grabbed my wrist.
Dad moved instantly.
“Take your hand off her.”
Daniel released me.
I looked down at the papers.
REAL ESTATE PURCHASE AGREEMENT.
My eyes moved across the page.
Buyer:
Daniel Carter.
And beneath it:
Vanessa Lane.
The purchase price was nine hundred and twenty thousand dollars.
The deposit was one hundred and ten thousand.
My missing money.
I looked at Vanessa.
She was white.
“You said he bought this for both of you.”
“He did.”
“You signed this?”
“I thought the money was his.”
Daniel ran both hands through his hair.
“This is exactly why I wanted to explain.”
I turned toward him.
“You stole from me.”
“I moved marital funds.”
“My mother left that money to me.”
“It was deposited into a joint account.”
“You knew why.”
“I was going to replace it.”
“When?”
“After a deal closed.”
“What deal?”
Daniel stopped.
Dad stepped closer.
“Answer her.”
Daniel snapped, “This has nothing to do with you.”
“Everything that hurts my daughter has something to do with me.”
Vanessa suddenly picked up another envelope from the counter.
“What is this?”
Daniel turned sharply.
“Put that down.”
She opened it.
Then she stared at him.
“What?”
Daniel took a step toward her.
Vanessa backed away.
Her hands began shaking.
“Daniel.”
“What?” I asked.
She handed me the document.
It was a mortgage application.
But the applicant wasn’t Daniel.
It was me.
Emily Carter.
My Social Security number.
My income.
My electronic signature.
A property address I had never seen.
I looked at Daniel.
He didn’t speak.
Dad took the paper from me.
“You forged her signature?”
Daniel’s face hardened.
“It’s not what it looks like.”
I almost smiled.
Of course.
Nothing was ever what it looked like.
Vanessa whispered, “Why is Emily’s name on this?”
Daniel looked toward the door.
Then at us.
And I saw something I had never seen in my husband before.
Not guilt.
Not shame.
Calculation.
He was deciding what we knew.
How dangerous we were.
How much he needed to hide.
I stepped backward.
“Dad.”
He understood immediately.
“Let’s go.”
Daniel blocked the doorway.
“No one is leaving with those papers.”
Dad moved in front of me.
“Move.”
“I said give them to me.”
Vanessa held up her phone.
“I already took pictures.”
Daniel’s expression went flat.
“You did what?”
Vanessa backed toward me.
“I took pictures.”
For the first time, she looked afraid of him.
Daniel locked the door.
The click sounded impossibly loud.
I stared at him.
“What are you doing?”
He put the key in his pocket.
Then he looked at the three of us.
“We’re going to sit down.”
Dad stepped forward.
Daniel’s hand disappeared into his coat.
Vanessa gasped.
I stopped breathing.
But he didn’t pull out a weapon.
He pulled out his phone.
He held it up.
“I’m calling the police.”
Dad laughed.
“Please do.”
Daniel looked directly at me.
“You might want to think about that.”
“Why?”
“Because the mortgage application isn’t the only document with your signature on it.”
I felt cold.
May you like
Daniel continued.
“And if the police start looking at our finances, Emily, you’re going to have a lot more to explain than I am.”
