PART 3
“Why?”
“Because I have information about him.”
I looked through the window of the coffee shop.
People walked past carrying shopping bags. A man pushed a stroller. Two teenagers were laughing over something on a phone. An ordinary morning continued around me while my entire marriage seemed to be shifting beneath my feet.
“What kind of information?”
Rachel lowered her voice.
“About Sophie.”
I stopped breathing.
“You know about her?”
“I know more than I should.”
I waited.
Rachel continued.
“I also know the baby may not be Julian’s.”
My hand went numb.
“What?”
“I can’t explain everything over the phone. There are records involved. Financial records. Travel expenses. Transfers.”
“Transfers from where?”
“Julian’s company account.”
I immediately thought about the business trips.
“Are you saying he paid Sophie?”
“I’m saying someone has been paying her.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know.”
Rachel hesitated.
“And Claire… there’s something else.”
“What?”
“Your name is connected to some of those payments.”
I almost dropped the phone.
“My name?”
“Yes.”
“How?”
“I need to show you. Can you meet me somewhere private?”
I looked around the coffee shop.
“Where?”
“There’s a small public library on Harrison Street. Second floor. Study room four. One hour.”
“Why there?”
“Because I don’t want cameras recording us.”
That sentence made my stomach twist.
“You’re frightening me.”
“I’m sorry. But you need to understand something before you meet me.”
“What?”
“Your husband isn’t simply having an affair.”
My throat tightened.
“What do you mean?”
“I think your husband has been preparing for a divorce for a long time.”
I stared at the wall.
A divorce.
The word itself was not surprising.
The betrayal was.
“But why would my name be connected to financial transfers?”
Rachel took a breath.
“That’s what I want to explain.”
She gave me a time.
Then she hung up.
For several minutes, I simply sat there.
I remembered the night Julian had proposed to me.
We had been standing beneath a row of Christmas lights outside a restaurant. Snow had begun falling, soft and delicate, catching in his dark hair.
He had told me I was the only woman he had ever wanted to build a life with.
Ten years.
Ten years of birthdays.
Ten Christmases.
Ten anniversaries.
Six years of doctors telling us that pregnancy might be difficult.
And somewhere during all of it, my husband had apparently been building another life.
I looked down at my notebook.
Sophie.
Eleven business trips.
Financial transfers.
Divorce.
My name.
There was one thing I knew for certain.
I could not go home and pretend nothing had happened.
So I paid for my coffee and walked out.
I spent the next forty minutes sitting in my car.
I didn’t drive.
I simply stared at the steering wheel.
My phone buzzed.
A message from Julian.
Where are you?
I stared at it.
Another message arrived.
Mom said you left early. Are you okay?
Then:
I love you. Call me.
I nearly laughed.
Instead, I typed:
I’m fine. I needed some air.
Three dots appeared immediately.
Come home.
I placed the phone facedown.
I wasn’t ready to go home.
Not until I understood exactly what kind of man I had married.
The library was nearly empty when I arrived.
Rachel was already waiting.
She sat at a table near the windows wearing a gray coat and carrying a black folder.
She looked nervous.
Not guilty.
Nervous.
She stood when she saw me.
“Claire?”
“Yes.”
“I’m Rachel.”
We shook hands.
Her grip was cold.
She sat down again and placed the folder between us.
“I need you to understand that I didn’t do anything wrong.”
“I believe you.”
She looked relieved for half a second.
Then she opened the folder.
“There are several transfers from one of Julian’s business accounts.”
She pushed a printed document toward me.
I scanned the page.
My eyes stopped on the amount.
$18,500.
Another transfer.
$7,200.
Then $12,000.
There were dozens.
“What are these?”
“Payments to a private consulting company.”
“Whose company?”
Rachel looked at me.
“Sophie’s.”
My heart pounded.
“Sophie owns a consulting company?”
“She created it eight months ago.”
“Why would Julian’s company pay her?”
“That’s what I couldn’t understand.”
She turned another page.
“These invoices are fake.”
“How do you know?”
“Because the services listed were never provided.”
I stared at her.
“Then why were they approved?”
“Your husband approved most of them.”
“Maybe someone forged his signature.”
Rachel shook her head.
“No.”
She pointed to the bottom of a document.
“Digital approval. His credentials.”
I leaned back.
My mind was moving too quickly.
“He was paying her through the company.”
“Yes.”
“His family knew.”
“I don’t know about his family.”
I remembered Helga’s words.
We’ll make her raise this child.
They knew enough.
Maybe they knew everything.
I looked at Rachel.
“Why did you say my name was connected to the payments?”
Rachel pulled out another document.
This one made my blood run cold.
It was a bank record.
My name appeared in the description.
Claire Bennett — reimbursement.
“What?”
“I noticed it during a quarterly audit.”
“I’ve never received this money.”
“I know.”
“Then why does it say my name?”
“I don’t know.”
She turned to another page.
“There are more.”
I looked.
Some transactions were labeled under my name.
Some appeared to be reimbursements for medical expenses.
Some were for travel.
I had never taken those trips.
“I never authorized this.”
Rachel nodded.
“I figured.”
“How?”
“Because I checked the dates.”
She pointed to one.
“You were home that week.”
I looked at her.
“How do you know?”
“I checked the company records and your husband’s travel schedule.”
The room seemed to tilt.
“So he used my name.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“That’s the question.”
Rachel closed the folder.
“There’s something I haven’t told you yet.”
I looked up.
“What?”
“Two weeks ago, I discovered another account.”
“Another company account?”
“No.”
She spoke quietly.
“A personal account.”
“Whose?”
“Julian’s.”
My heartbeat accelerated.
“What’s in it?”
“Almost $190,000.”
I stared at her.
“Where did it come from?”
Rachel shook her head.
“That’s the strange part.”
She leaned forward.
“The money came from multiple accounts.”
“Whose accounts?”
“People who have one thing in common.”
“What?”
“They’re all connected to your name.”
I felt a wave of nausea.
“What are you saying?”
Rachel reached into her bag.
She pulled out a small envelope.
“I’m saying someone has been building a financial trail around you.”
I did not touch it.
“Why?”
“I don’t know.”
“Then why are you helping me?”
Rachel looked toward the library doors.
“Because yesterday someone asked me to alter one of these records.”
“Who?”
“Your husband’s brother.”
I froze.
“Marcus?”
She nodded.
“He told me it was a routine correction.”
“And?”
“I refused.”
“What did he say?”
“He told me I should remember who signs my paycheck.”
Her voice shook.
“I went home last night and realized this was bigger than a company accounting issue.”
I looked down at the envelope.
“What’s inside?”
“Copies.”
I opened it.
There were screenshots.
Emails.
Payment records.
And then one document stopped me completely.
It was a draft legal agreement.
My name appeared at the top.
Claire Bennett — Separation and Asset Liability Agreement.
I read the first paragraph.
Then the second.
My hands began trembling.
“What is this?”
Rachel’s face hardened.
“It looks like a divorce agreement.”
I continued reading.
According to the document, I had supposedly agreed to accept responsibility for a large amount of business debt in exchange for keeping the house.
I almost laughed.
“I never signed this.”
“I know.”
“Then why does this exist?”
Rachel didn’t answer immediately.
Because we both already knew the implication.
Someone was preparing to make it look like I had.
I closed the folder.
“I need to go.”
Rachel nodded.
Before I stood, she caught my wrist.
“Claire.”
I looked at her.
“You have to be careful.”
“I know.”
“No.”
She shook her head.
“I don’t think you understand.”
She lowered her voice.
“Your husband knows what he is doing.”
I stared at her.
“He’s not improvising.”
“He’s planned this.”
I slipped the envelope into my bag.
“Thank you.”
Rachel stood.
“And Claire?”
“Yes?”
“Don’t confront him yet.”
I paused.
“Why?”
“Because right now, he thinks you’re completely unaware.”
Her eyes met mine.
“That is the only advantage you have.”
When I finally drove home, Julian was waiting.
He stood in the kitchen wearing the dark blue shirt I had bought him for his birthday.
For one brief, painful second, I remembered why I had loved him.
Then I remembered Sophie.
“Where were you?”
“Coffee.”
“You were gone for hours.”
“I needed time.”
“For what?”
I put my purse down.
“I’ve been thinking.”
He walked toward me.
“About what?”
I looked into his eyes.
“Us.”
He smiled.
“What about us?”
“I think things have changed.”
His expression shifted almost imperceptibly.
“What do you mean?”
“Do you still love me?”
He reached for my hands.
“Of course I do.”
I let him hold them.
His palms felt warm.
Familiar.
Wrong.
“Would you ever leave me?”
He frowned.
“Why would you ask that?”
“Just answer me.”
“No.”
The lie came effortlessly.
