Chapter 3
Patricia bent down immediately.
Too immediately.
“I’m sorry. My hand slipped.”
Nobody believed her.
Not after Michael had used the same excuse.
Rachel watched her carefully.
Robert watched her even more carefully.
I looked from Patricia to the documents in my hand.
“My signature is required for a home equity loan.”
“Yes,” Rachel said.
“I didn’t sign anything.”
“I know.”
“So someone forged it.”
Rachel didn’t answer directly.
“We need the lender’s original file.”
Patricia straightened.
“This is ridiculous. Michael handles the finances.”
I turned toward her.
“You knew about the transfer.”
“I knew he was protecting himself.”
“By hiding marital money in your company?”
“He was worried you’d take everything.”
“He was having an affair.”
“You keep saying that like it excuses what you’re doing.”
Claire made a sound of disbelief.
“Mom.”
Patricia ignored her.
Rachel slipped the papers back into her folder.
“We shouldn’t discuss financial evidence here.”
Patricia laughed.
“Why? Because you know you don’t have anything?”
Rachel’s expression stayed flat.
“No. Because you may be involved.”
That shut her up.
Robert slowly sat down.
“Patricia.”
She looked at him.
“What?”
“Did Michael put money in your business?”
“He asked me to hold some funds.”
“How much?”
“It’s none of your concern.”
His face changed.
“I’m your husband.”
“And?”
Claire whispered, “Oh my God.”
Robert stared at Patricia like he was seeing her for the first time.
“How much?”
Patricia crossed her arms.
“I don’t remember.”
“You don’t remember receiving hundreds of thousands of dollars?”
“I didn’t say hundreds of thousands.”
Rachel spoke quietly.
“Nine transfers totaling four hundred and twelve thousand dollars.”
Robert went completely still.
So did I.
I knew about the joint savings.
I knew about the brokerage account Michael had quietly liquidated.
But four hundred and twelve thousand?
We didn’t have that much liquid cash.
Unless—
I looked at Rachel.
“The home equity money.”
She nodded.
My knees weakened.
Michael had borrowed against our house.
Then moved some or all of that money to his mother.
I thought of Sophie’s bedroom.
The little stars I had painted on her wall when she was four.
The pencil marks inside the pantry doorway measuring her height every birthday.
The maple tree we planted after she was born.
Michael had put all of it at risk.
For what?
To hide money before leaving me?
To fund another life?
The paramedic touched my arm.
“We really need to take you in.”
This time I didn’t argue.
Rachel came with me.
As we walked toward the ambulance, Claire followed.
“Emily.”
I turned.
Her mascara had run down both cheeks.
“I’m sorry.”
“For what?”
“For not saying anything sooner.”
The words landed strangely.
I stared at her.
“Saying what?”
Claire glanced toward the house.
Rachel stopped beside me.
“Claire?”
She started crying.
“I saw her.”
My stomach dropped.
“Who?”
“The woman.”
Michael’s mistress.
“I saw Michael with her three weeks ago at Mom’s house.”
I already knew Patricia had met her.
But Claire’s face told me there was more.
“What happened?”
“They were upstairs.”
I felt sick.
“In Patricia’s house?”
Claire nodded.
“Mom told me she was a client.”
“Michael doesn’t have clients.”
“I know.”
Rachel asked, “Did you hear anything?”
Claire rubbed her hands together.
“I heard them arguing.”
“About what?”
“Money.”
I went still.
Claire looked terrified.
“The woman said she wasn’t waiting forever. She said Michael promised her they would have the house by Christmas.”
My breath caught.
“Our house?”
“I don’t know.”
Rachel’s eyes narrowed.
“What exactly did she say?”
Claire squeezed her eyes shut, trying to remember.
“She said, ‘You said once the papers were signed, the house would be ours.’”
Rachel and I looked at each other.
“What papers?” I asked.
Claire shook her head.
“I don’t know.”
Patricia appeared in the doorway.
“Claire!”
Claire flinched.
“Get inside.”
“No.”
Patricia stared at her daughter.
“What did you say?”
“The truth.”
“You don’t know the truth.”
“I know enough.”
“You have always been jealous of your brother.”
Claire laughed through tears.
“Are you serious?”
Patricia came down the steps.
Rachel stepped between us.
“I suggest you stop trying to intimidate witnesses.”
“Witnesses?” Patricia shouted. “This is my daughter!”
“And Emily is your daughter-in-law.”
“Not for long.”
“No,” I said. “Definitely not for long.”
The paramedic guided me into the ambulance.
As the doors closed, I saw Robert standing behind Patricia.
He wasn’t looking at me.
He was looking at his wife.
And the expression on his face was not anger.
It was suspicion.
At the hospital, I needed six stitches.
Rachel stayed beside me.
While the doctor worked, she made calls.
By midnight, she had filed the emergency financial petition electronically.
She also told me to change every password I had.
Bank accounts.
Email.
Phone carrier.
Cloud storage.
Mortgage portal.
Everything.
“Do you think Michael will try something while he’s in custody?”
“I think Michael has already been trying something for months.”
My stomach tightened.
Rachel sat beside the bed.
“Emily, I need to ask you something uncomfortable.”
“Ask.”
“Has Michael ever signed your name for convenience?”
I thought about it.
“Birthday cards.”
“Anything financial?”
“No.”
“Tax returns?”
“We e-file. He usually handled them.”
Rachel’s face told me that answer worried her.
“Why?”
“I want copies of the last three years.”
I stared at her.
“You think there’s more.”
“I think people who move four hundred thousand dollars before a divorce rarely start with four hundred thousand dollars.”
My phone vibrated.
It was my neighbor, Jenna.
I answered immediately.
“Hey.”
“Emily, are you okay?”
“Yes. Why?”
“There’s a woman at your house.”
My entire body tightened.
“What woman?”
“I don’t know. Dark hair. Maybe thirty-five. She used a key.”
Rachel stood.
“Put her on speaker.”
Jenna continued.
“She came about fifteen minutes ago. She’s carrying boxes out to an SUV.”
My mouth went dry.
“What kind of boxes?”
“I can’t tell. Files maybe?”
Rachel grabbed her coat.
“Call the police.”
Jenna hesitated.
“Should I?”
“Yes,” I said. “Right now.”
I knew who the woman was.
Michael’s mistress.
Her name was Natalie Reed.
Thirty-four.
Senior marketing manager at Michael’s company.
Divorced once.
No children.
I knew more about Natalie than she probably knew about me.
But until that moment, I had never heard her voice.
Never confronted her.
Never given her any reason to think I knew.
Which meant Michael must have called her after his arrest.
Or Patricia had.
Rachel was already dialing.
“I’m getting an officer to meet us there.”
The doctor protested when I tried to leave.
I didn’t care.
Twenty minutes later, Rachel and I were riding in the back of a police cruiser toward my house.
Blue lights reflected off the wet pavement.
My hands shook in my lap.
Rachel noticed.
“Don’t confront her.”
“I want to know what she’s taking.”
“So do I.”
When we turned onto my street, two police cars were already outside.
Jenna stood on her porch in pajamas and a winter coat.
Natalie’s black SUV was parked in my driveway.
The rear hatch was open.
Three cardboard boxes sat on the pavement.
A police officer stood beside them.
And Natalie stood near my front door.
She was even prettier in person than in the photographs.
Tall.
Dark hair.
Perfect coat.
Perfect makeup.
She looked irritated, not ashamed.
Then she saw me.
Her face changed.
Her eyes went straight to the bandage on my forehead.
For half a second, she looked shocked.
Then defensive.
“Emily.”
Hearing my name from her mouth made my skin crawl.
I walked toward the driveway.
The officer held up a hand.
“Ma’am, please stay over here.”
I stopped.
Natalie pointed at the boxes.
“These are Michael’s personal files.”
“From my house.”
“He asked me to get them.”
“From jail?”
Her jaw tightened.
“I don’t know where he is.”
“Then how did you know to come tonight?”
She didn’t answer.
Rachel stepped beside me.
“I’m Emily’s attorney.”
Natalie laughed nervously.
“Of course you are.”
Rachel looked at the boxes.
“Officer, has anyone opened those?”
“No. We were waiting for the homeowner.”
“I’m the homeowner,” I said.
Natalie shook her head.
“Michael owns the house too.”
“That doesn’t give you permission to enter.”
“He gave me a key.”
My throat tightened.
Of course he had.
The officer asked, “Ma’am, what exactly were you removing?”
Natalie folded her arms.
“Business records.”
“Whose business?”
“Michael’s.”
“He works for a corporation,” I said.
She glared at me.
“You don’t know everything about your husband.”
“No,” I said. “Apparently I don’t.”
Rachel crouched beside the first box.
“Emily, do you consent to opening these?”
“Yes.”
Natalie stepped forward.
“No.”
The officer blocked her.
Rachel lifted the cardboard flap.
Inside were folders.
Bank statements.
Tax records.
Copies of insurance policies.
And a blue binder I recognized immediately.
Our mortgage documents.
Rachel lifted it out.
Natalie’s face went pale.
“What is that doing in there?” I asked.
She said nothing.
Rachel opened the binder.
Then froze.
“What?”
She pulled out a document.
My name appeared at the bottom.
My signature too.
Except I had never signed it.
Rachel looked at me.
“Emily.”
I stared at the paper.
It was the home equity application.
And beside my forged signature was a notarization.
The notary’s name was Patricia Caldwell.
My mother-in-law.
Natalie whispered something under her breath.
I looked at her.
“What did you say?”
She shook her head.
“Nothing.”
I stepped closer.
“What did you say?”
Her eyes filled with panic.
“It wasn’t supposed to happen like this.”
The street seemed to tilt beneath me.
“What wasn’t?”
Natalie looked toward the police.
Then at Rachel.
Then at me.
Her voice dropped to a whisper.
“Michael told me you had already agreed to the divorce.”
I felt nothing.
Not yet.
She continued.
“He said you were moving out.”
My heart pounded.
“He said the house was going to us.”
“Us?”
Natalie closed her eyes.
“He said we were getting married.”
I stared at her.
“And the money?”
She didn’t answer.
Rachel stood.
“Natalie, you need your own attorney before you say anything else.”
But Natalie was already crying.
“I didn’t know he forged your signature.”
“You expected me to hand over my home?”
“He told me it was part of your settlement.”
I almost laughed.
The audacity was too enormous for anger.
Then Natalie looked toward the box.
“There’s something else in there.”
Rachel stopped.
“What?”
Natalie pointed.
“Bottom folder.”
Rachel pulled out three more binders.
Under them was a thick manila envelope.
She opened it.
Inside were photographs.
Not of Michael and Natalie.
Of me.
Walking Sophie to school.
Leaving work.
Shopping for groceries.
Sitting with Jenna at a coffee shop.
Dozens of photographs.
Taken without my knowledge.
My blood turned cold.
“What is this?”
Natalie stared at Michael’s collection of photographs.
May you like
Then she whispered the sentence that changed everything again.
“He told me he was building a custody case against you.”
