Chapter 5: What Grace Said
Grace called at seven forty-five the next morning, before I had left the bedroom.
"I got your message," she said.
"How many documents?"
"Enough to fill a folder.
I have photographs of all of them."
"What kind of documents?"
"Forged transfer of ownership for my company.
Bank transfers I didn't authorize.
Divorce papers already drawn up.
A handwritten plan." I paused.
"And a woman who walked in while I was there — she said she was his attorney."
Grace was quiet for a moment.
"His attorney was present when you found these documents?"
"She came to collect them.
She didn't know I'd already photographed everything."
"Olivia." Grace's voice was careful now.
"I need you to listen to me.
Do not delete anything.
Do not confront him again.
Do not let him near your phone or your work accounts.
Can you get out of the apartment today?"
"He's still here.
His mother too."
"Is there somewhere you can go?
A friend, a colleague, anyone?"
I thought about it.
"Yes."
"Go there today.
Bring your phone, your laptop, any physical documents you have access to.
I'll clear my afternoon.
Come to my office at two o'clock."
"Grace — how serious is this?"
She didn't answer immediately.
I heard her clicking through something on her computer.
"The forged signature alone," she said, "is serious.
If the transfer document was notarized with a fraudulent agreement, that's not a civil matter.
That's crjminal fraud." She paused.
"Who notarized it?"
"I don't know.
I didn't see a name."
"Send me the photograph right now.
I want to look at it before you come in."
I sent it.
Thirty seconds passed.
"Olivia," she said.
"Yes."
"The notary stamp on this document — I know that name.
She works out of an office on Clement Street.
She's done work for several clients I'm familiar with." Another pause.
"She's not someone who makes mistakes.
Which means this wasn't a mistake."
I sat on the edge of the bed, phone pressed to my ear, listening to the refrigerator hum through the wall.
"How long do you think this has been planned?" I asked.
"Based on what I'm looking at?" Grace said.
"Months.
At minimum."
I thought about the six months he hadn't worked.
The credit card charges I'd noticed but hadn't questioned hard enough.
The way he'd started coming home late, then later, then sometimes not until I was already asleep.
"He was never going to look for a job," I said.
"No," Grace said quietly.
"I don't think he was."
I stood up and went to the window.
Outside, the street was ordinary — a woman walking a dog, a delivery truck double-parked, a man in a jacket drinking coffee on a stoop.
"What do I do when I walk out of this bedroom?" I asked.
"You act completely normal," Grace said.
"You do not let him know you've spoken to me.
You say good morning.
You make coffee if that's what you do.
You leave for work at your usual time.
You do not look at him differently."
"And if he asks about last night?"
"You say you slept badly.
That's it."
"And his mother?"
A brief pause.
"Same."
I looked at the locked door.
"Grace," I said.
"There was a camera in the apartment.
A small one, on the bookshelf.
He was watching me through it in real time."
The silence on her end lasted three full seconds.
"He watched you find the documents," she said.
"Yes."
"And he still let you leave."
"Yes."
"That means he either doesn't know how much you saw," she said slowly, "or he has a backup plan he hasn't used yet."
The bedroom door handle moved.
One small, quiet turn.
"I have to go," I said.
"Two o'clock," Grace said.
"Don't be late."
I hung up, stood, smoothed my clothes, and unlocked the door.
Daniel was standing in the hallway, dressed, car keys in his hand.
"Morning," he said.
"Morning," I said.
He looked at me for a moment.
I looked back at him with nothing on my face.
May you like
"Coffee's ready," he said, and walked toward the kitchen.
I followed him, and we sat across from each other at the table we had bought together three years ago, and I drank my coffee, and he drank his, and neither of us said another word.
