“No.”
“Nathan.”
“No.”
Her breathing changed.
“Are you filing for divorce?”
I stared at my bare left hand.
“I haven't decided what I’m filing.”
Then I hung up.
CHAPTER 3: EIGHT MONTHS OF SMALL TRANSFERS
People imagine hidden money moving in suitcases.
It doesn’t.
Sometimes it moves five hundred dollars at a time.
Then eight hundred.
Then twelve hundred.
Amounts small enough to disappear inside an ordinary household.
Brooke had opened a separate checking account eight months earlier.
Nothing illegal about that.
The problem was where much of the money came from.
Our joint account.
The first transfer was four hundred and fifty dollars.
Then six hundred.
Then another six.
Cash withdrawals appeared too.
Hotel charges went onto a credit card I rarely used.
Furniture deposits.
Application fees.
Over eight months, almost nineteen thousand dollars moved.
Not enough to destroy us financially.
Enough to prove intent.
Dana reviewed everything.
“Document.”
That became her favorite word.
“What do I do about the account?”
“Nothing.”
“But it’s our money.”
“Which is why you document it.”
I began building a file.
For the first time in months, I stopped asking emotional questions.
Did Brooke love me?
Did I fail her?
Was Derek better?
Was I jealous?
None of those questions could answer the one that mattered.
What had actually happened?
Facts were brutal.
But clean.
Brooke had been sleeping with Derek.
She lied about Melissa.
She moved money.
She applied for an apartment.
She wrote down plans to make me file.
She tried to recruit a witness.
She deliberately provoked me in public.
Those were not feelings.
They were decisions.
Three days later, Derek contacted me.
WE NEED TO TALK. NO GAMES.
I showed Dana.
“You don’t have to meet him.”
“I know.”
“If you do, public place.”
“Yes.”
“Don’t threaten him.”
“You really think I’m going to hit him?”
“I think every divorce client believes they're the exception to emotional behavior.”
Fair enough.
I chose a diner at noon.
Tom came but sat in another booth.
Derek arrived alone.
He looked different.
No smirk.
No perfect confidence.
He looked ashamed.
He sat.
“I owe you an apology.”
“I’m not here for one.”
“I know.”
“Then why?”
He placed his phone on the table.
“Because Brooke lied to both of us.”
I stared.
“You slept with my wife.”
“Yes.”
“You helped her humiliate me.”
His face tightened.
“Yes.”
“You knew we were married.”
“Yes.”
“Then don’t sit there pretending we’re victims of the same woman.”
He looked down.
“You’re right.”
That surprised me.
Apparently everyone was discovering accountability at once.
Derek unlocked his phone.
“I thought she was leaving you.”
“That doesn't make it better.”
“No.”
“Good.”
He pushed the phone toward me.
Messages.
Some matched Melissa’s copies.
Others didn’t.