Chapter 7: The Name Behind the Letter
The contact saved as *R* had a voice she recognized the moment the line connected.
"I wondered when you'd call," he said.
His name was Roland.
He was her cousin, eight years older, and he had been the one to first suggest, over a family dinner two years ago, that a woman in her position was leaving a great deal of money on the table by staying in a marriage that clearly wasn't working.
She had found that funny at the time.
Flattering, even.
"You sent those messages," she said.
"From my phone."
"I helped you," Roland said.
"There's a difference."
"You used my number.
You moved money under my name.
You made it look like I was orchestrating something I knew nothing about."
"You knew enough." His voice was easy, unhurried.
"You knew you wanted out.
You knew you wanted the assets.
I simply handled the logistics."
"You handled them in a way that could have me charged with fraud."
A pause.
Shorter than she would have liked.
"That's a strong word," Roland said.
"Is it?
Because I'm sitting outside Daniel's mother's house with a screenshot of a fourteen-month message thread that has my number at the top and your fingerprints all over the content, and I'm trying to decide whether to walk back into that house and hand it to her, or call the police first."
"You won't call the police."
"Why not?"
"Because your name is on those messages.
Not mine.
I'm a contact saved as a single letter.
You're the one with the paper trail."
She looked at Petra.
Petra was watching her steadily, one hand resting on the door handle, ready.
"What did you actually move?" she said.
"How much?"
"Enough to make the settlement worthwhile.
Or it would have been, if the company had been in his name like everyone assumed."
"How much, Roland."
A beat.
"Two hundred and sixty thousand.
Across eleven transfers.
All coded as household accounts and renovation expenses."
"And where is it now?"
Silence.
"Where is the money now?" she said again.
"Safe," he said.
"Accessible.
Once the divorce is finalized and the dust settles—"
"The divorce gives me nothing.
There's a prenup.
The company was never his.
The settlement is zero." Her voice was flat.
"So where is the money, Roland?
Because it's not in any account I can see."
The silence this time was longer.
"I may have made some investments on your behalf," he said carefully.
"Short-term.
To grow the principal before—"
"You lost it."
"I didn't lose—"
"How much is left?"
Nothing.
"Roland.
How much."
"Fourteen thousand," he said.
"Approximately."
She closed her eyes.
Two hundred and sixty thousand dollars, moved illegally under her name, reduced to fourteen thousand through whatever Roland had decided to do with it, and every transaction logged in a message thread that named her as the architect.
"I'm going to need you to write down everything you did," she said.
"Every transfer.
Every account.
Every date.
Everything."
"I don't think that's—"
"You're going to write it down," she said, "because the alternative is that I hand what I already have to Daniel's family and let them decide what to do with it.
And I promise you, Roland, they have better lawyers than either of us."
The line was quiet for a long moment.
"Fine," he said.
"I'll write it down."
She ended the call.
Petra was still watching her.
"He took the money," she said.
"I heard." Petra's voice was careful.
"What are you going to do with what he sends you?"
She looked at the front door of the house.
Still closed.
Still waiting.
May you like
"I'm going to go back inside," she said.
"And I'm going to tell Daniel's mother everything."
