Chapter 5: The Number I Didn't Recognize
I stared at the message for a long time without moving.
Then I typed: *Who is this?*
The reply came fast.
*My name is Carla.
I used to work with Marcus.
I know about the accounts.
I know about the estate.
And I know about the other woman — the one who isn't your sister and isn't your mother.*
The ceiling fan turned slowly overhead.
I sat up.
*There's someone else?*
*There was.
About two years ago.
She left when she found out what he was doing with the money.
She came to me because she didn't know who else to go to.
I've been holding onto what she gave me ever since.
I didn't know if I'd ever use it.*
*Why now?*
*Because she called me tonight.
She saw something online — a photo from your anniversary dinner last month.
She recognized your face.
She said I had to reach out.*
I got up and walked to the window.
The street outside was quiet.
Marcus's car was still in the driveway.
*What did she give you?*
*Bank records.
Emails.
A recording of a conversation where he explains, in his own words, exactly how he moved money out of an estate account without the primary beneficiary's knowledge.
He was bragging.
He thought she was on his side.*
My hand tightened around the phone.
*Can you meet me tomorrow?*
*Tell me where.*
I named a coffee shop three miles from the house.
Public.
Busy in the mornings.
She confirmed and went quiet.
I sat back down on the bed.
The room felt different than it had an hour ago.
Not better exactly.
But different.
Like the ground had shifted under me and I was still finding my footing, but at least now I could see where I was standing.
In the morning, Marcus was already dressed when I came out of the bedroom.
He was in the kitchen making coffee like it was any other day.
My sister was asleep on the couch.
My mother had taken the guest room.
"We need to talk about last night," he said.
"I agree." I poured myself a cup.
"But not right now.
I have somewhere to be."
"Where?"
"Errands."
He set his mug down.
"I don't think you should be driving around making decisions when you're this emotional."
"I'm not emotional," I said.
"I'm clear."
Something in my voice made him look at me differently.
Just for a second.
Then the control came back.
"I'll come with you," he said.
"You won't."
I picked up my keys and my bag and walked out the front door.
He didn't follow me.
I think he thought I would come back softer.
I think he believed that by the time I returned, he would have had enough time to work on my sister and my mother and reshape the story into something he could manage.
He was still thinking like a man who was in control.
Carla was already at the coffee shop when I arrived.
She was in her late thirties, neat, careful-looking, with a manila envelope on the table in front of her and both hands wrapped around a cup she hadn't drunk from.
She stood when she saw me.
"I'm sorry," she said immediately.
"I'm so sorry this is happening to you."
May you like
"Show me what you have," I said.
She opened the envelope.
