I had paid one invoice from the joint account during a transfer week. One. I had meant to move it and never did. Nathan, or someone in his office, had seen it.
He might not know what I knew.
But he knew enough to suspect I was looking.
I called Sandra. She answered on the fourth ring, voice crisp.
“He saw the investigator charge,” I said. “He called tonight and suddenly wants to spend tomorrow morning with me.”
A pause.
Then: “We move faster.”
The next morning, Nathan got up around five-thirty to use the bathroom. His phone was on the nightstand between us. Unlocked.
I had maybe fifteen seconds.
I picked it up, opened messages, and saw a thread near the top with one name.
Henry.
Nathan’s older brother. His business partner. The man who had toasted at our wedding and called me “the smartest person in the room” like it was a compliment instead of a warning.
The most recent message read: We need to talk about the accounts. Something is off. Call me before you do anything.
The bathroom door clicked open.
I set the phone back exactly where it had been and rolled onto my side, heart thudding so hard I felt it behind my teeth.
When Nathan climbed back into bed, he touched my arm like a husband.
I lay still and stared into the dark.
I had prepared for my husband to become my opponent.
I had not prepared for his brother to become his accomplice.
By sunrise, I knew my plan was no longer a clean, careful exit.
It was a race.
And I had just learned I wasn’t the only one running.
Part 4
The papers were supposed to be served at Nathan’s office.
That had been my favorite part of the original plan.
I wanted him in his glass tower in Manhattan, surrounded by polished concrete and awards and assistants who called him Mr. Callaway in voices sharpened by respect. I wanted the envelope waiting on his desk when he came out of an investor meeting. I wanted the silence of his office to do part of the work for me.
Instead, because he suddenly cleared his schedule and stayed home that Thursday morning with suspicious, over-bright energy, the courier came to the house.
I was in the kitchen when the doorbell rang.
The kettle had just started ticking toward a boil. Rain tapped against the back windows. I remember the exact shape of the light on the marble countertop and the fact that there were three oranges in the fruit bowl because I had thrown the fourth one away the day before when I found mold near the stem.