Chapter 7: The Moment She Almost Won
He needed to be certain before he did anything else.
Certain enough that there was no room left for doubt — not in a solicitor's office, not in a courtroom, not in his own heart.
He called his bank the next morning from his office with the door closed.
He explained the situation to a fraud specialist named Claire.
He told her about the letter his mother had received, the missing statements, the online portal he thought he'd seen on Vivian's phone.
Claire was quiet for a moment.
Then: "Mr.
Howell, I'm going to need you to have your mother call us directly.
We can flag the account for monitoring and check whether any third-party access has been attempted."
"Can you tell me if it has been attempted already?"
"Not to you.
But if your mother calls us, we can tell her."
Margaret called that afternoon.
Daniel sat beside her at her kitchen table while she spoke to the bank.
He watched her face.
She listened for a long time.
Then she said, "I see." Then she said, "No.
I did not authorize that."
She hung up and looked at him.
"Someone tried to set up online access to my account eleven days ago," she said.
"They had my account number, my sort code, and my date of birth.
The bank blocked it because the device wasn't recognized.
They sent a verification code to my phone." She paused.
"I never received a text."
"Because the request was made to change the registered phone number first," Daniel said.
He had read enough about this to know how it worked.
"They tried to reroute the verification away from you."
"The bank blocked that too.
But they said whoever it was tried again four days later from a different device."
Daniel looked at his hands.
"They have a record of the attempts," he said.
"Yes."
He called Gerald Fitch and told him.
Gerald said to contact the police.
Daniel said he needed one more day.
That evening, Vivian made pasta.
She lit a candle on the table.
She poured two glasses of wine and asked him about his week and laughed at something he said, and for a moment — just a moment — he felt the weight of everything pressing down so hard he couldn't breathe.
This was his wife.
This was the woman he had chosen.
"Are you all right?" she asked.
"I'm tired," he said.
"You've been tired a lot lately." She reached across and touched his face.
"I'm worried about you."
He looked at her.
At the candlelight on her face.
At the wine glass in her hand.
"Vivian," he said quietly.
"I need to ask you something, and I need you to tell me the truth."
She tilted her head.
"Of course."
"Did you try to access my mother's bank account?"
The candle flickered.
Vivian didn't move.
Then she laughed — soft, almost sad.
"Daniel.
Listen to yourself."
"The bank has records of two unauthorized access attempts.
Eleven days ago and four days ago."
"And you think that was me."
"I think you had her account number.
I think you had her date of birth.
I think you took her statements."
Vivian set down her wine glass.
"I am your wife.
I have been your wife for seven years.
And you are sitting across from me at our dinner table accusing me of—"
"I'm not accusing you.
I'm asking you."
"It's the same thing." Her voice hardened.
"And I want you to think very carefully about what happens next.
Because if you go to the police with this — if you drag my name through whatever you're imagining — I will make sure everyone knows what kind of marriage this has been.
What kind of husband you've been." She leaned forward.
"Your mother is old, Daniel.
She gets confused.
You know that.
A good solicitor will make that case in about ten minutes."
He looked at her for a long time.
"There it is," he said.
She picked up her wine glass again.
May you like
Her hand was perfectly steady.
And for the first time, he was genuinely afraid she might be right.
