Chapter 5: The Woman in the Glass Office
I didn't sleep.
Ruth stayed on the sofa.
Gary made calls until two in the morning and then sat in the kitchen with a notepad and said nothing that wasn't necessary.
By six AM I had three things: the name of a family law attorney, a screenshot of the emptied account, and the full name of Vivienne Marsh pulled from a professional directory Gary had access to through an old colleague.
Vivienne Marsh.
Independent wealth transition consultant.
Office in the financial district.
Specialty: *asset restructuring during marital separation.*
Not household transitions.
Marital separation.
I read that line four times.
"He told me she helped spouses who stepped back from work," I said.
Gary looked up from his notepad.
"That's one way to describe it."
"She helps people hide money before a divorce."
He didn't confirm it.
He didn't need to.
Ruth drove me to the attorney's office at nine.
Her name was Patricia Holt.
She was in her early sixties, silver-haired, and she listened to everything I said without writing a single note until I finished.
Then she wrote for two full minutes without speaking.
"The resignation email," she said finally.
"You didn't send it."
"No."
"Do you have access to your work laptop right now?"
"It's at home.
I left without it."
"Don't go back for it alone.
Don't touch it.
If Daniel or Eleanor has accessed it, the metadata will show that.
We want it preserved exactly as it is." She set her pen down.
"The joint account — you're a co-holder?"
"Yes."
"Then the withdrawal was legal in the technical sense.
But the timing, combined with the forged resignation and the pre-engagement of a separation consultant, tells a story." She looked at me steadily.
"How long have you been married?"
"Seven years."
"And you're on the mortgage."
"Yes."
"Good." She folded her hands.
"Mrs.
—"
"Call me Nora."
"Nora.
What your husband has done is not subtle.
It's actually quite clumsy, which works in your favor.
Clumsy people leave evidence." She picked up her pen again.
"I'd like to contact your HR department directly, with your authorization, to request the submission log for that resignation email.
I'd also like to send a preservation notice to your bank.
And I'd like to know everything you can tell me about Vivienne Marsh."
I told her what Gary had found.
She wrote it all down.
"Has she contacted you directly?" Patricia asked.
"No."
"Has she contacted your employer?"
I stopped.
I hadn't thought of that.
I picked up my phone and opened my work email — the personal account, not the corporate one that had received the resignation.
There was a message from my manager, Diane, sent at seven forty-five that morning.
*Nora — HR flagged something unusual about the resignation submission.
Can you call me when you get a chance?
Don't worry yet.
Just call.*
I showed Patricia the screen.
She read it and allowed herself a small, precise smile.
"Call her," Patricia said.
"Right now.
Put her on speaker."
I dialed.
Diane answered on the first ring.
"Nora.
Thank God.
Are you all right?"
"I'm with my attorney.
Can you tell me what HR found?"
A pause.
Papers shuffling.
"The resignation came in through the portal, but it was flagged by the system because the IP address didn't match your usual login location.
You always log in from the same two places — office and home.
This came from a third location.
A building in the financial district."
Patricia's pen stopped moving.
I looked at her.
May you like
She looked at me.
Vivienne Marsh's office was in the financial district.
