Chapter 5 - The Forty-Seven Thousand Dollars
Lorraine dropped the tax return as if it had burned her.
“What are you doing?”
“I was looking for my insurance papers.”
“In my locked filing cabinet?”
“It was not locked.”
“It was this morning.”
She looked past me.
“Andrew asked me to find something.”
That surprised both of us.
“What?”
She said nothing.
I stepped into the hallway.
“Andrew.”
His bedroom door opened.
He had chosen the guest room after I told him I did not want him in our bed.
“What is happening?”
“Your mother says you sent her into my files.”
His face hardened.
“I asked her to find the cottage insurance paperwork.”
“Why?”
“There may be a claim from the plumbing leak.”
I almost laughed.
“The plumbing leak you supposedly inspected while sleeping with Serena?”
He looked away.
I picked up the tax return.
“This has nothing to do with the cottage.”
Lorraine pointed at me.
“You are making every innocent thing look sinister.”
“No.”
I held up the page.
“You are standing outside my bedroom after ten at night holding my tax return while your son has secretly removed almost fifty thousand dollars from our savings.”
“Nothing needs help looking sinister.”
Andrew rubbed both hands over his face.
“Can everyone just stop?”
I stared at him.
“No.”
That word seemed to shock him.
For seven years, our marriage had survived because I kept agreeing to stop.
Stop asking.
Stop pressing.
Stop making things uncomfortable.
Stop talking about Lorraine.
Stop discussing money after dinner.
Stop expecting him to choose.
Not anymore.
The following morning, I met Nora at her office.
I brought the green folder, screenshots, bank statements, photographs, and copies of my incident documentation from the pot.
Nora studied everything for almost two hours.
“The house agreement is strong.”
I exhaled.
“Strong enough?”
“I never promise outcomes.”
She tapped the postnuptial agreement.
“But Andrew acknowledged the traced inheritance contribution, accepted other consideration, had independent counsel, and signed this voluntarily.”
“What about the missing money?”
“We trace it.”
“And the document he wanted me to sign?”
“We find it before he puts it in front of you.”
Nora contacted the bank named in the photograph Gabriel had delivered.
Two hours later, a compliance officer returned her call.
There was no completed application under my name.
But there was a preliminary home equity inquiry.
The property address was mine.
Andrew was listed as the applicant.
I was listed as co-applicant.
My email address was wrong by one letter.
My phone number was Andrew’s secondary work number.
Nora stared at the printed information.
“He was positioning the application so communications would not reach you.”
“Could he borrow against the house without me?”
“Not cleanly.”
“Then he needed my signature.”
“Exactly.”
Monday suddenly made sense.
Andrew had probably intended to place several pages in front of me.
Perhaps between tax paperwork and insurance forms.
Perhaps while I was tired after work.
He had counted on habit.
On trust.
On the fact that for seven years, I had signed documents he placed beside the coffee maker because I believed my husband was acting as my partner.
My phone rang.
Serena Blake.
I did not know how she had gotten my number.
I answered anyway.
“Claire?”
Her voice shook.
“This is Serena.”
I said nothing.
“I know you have every reason to hang up.”
“Then talk quickly.”
“Andrew called me last night.”
My grip tightened around the phone.
“What did he say?”
“He told me you were trying to take everything.”
“That would be an interesting story considering he was trying to borrow against my house.”
Silence.
Then Serena whispered.
“He told me it was his house.”
“I know.”
“There is something else.”
I waited.
“He said his mother failed.”
A chill traveled across my arms.
“Failed at what?”
May you like
Serena started crying.
“I think he expected Lorraine to make you leave yesterday morning.”
