Chapter 2 - THE MONEY
I stayed in the airport parking garage for almost forty minutes.
I went through every account we had.
Checking.
Savings.
Investment transfers.
Credit cards.
The more I looked, the worse it became.
Daniel had always managed most of our investment accounts.
Not because I couldn’t.
Because I trusted him.
That word suddenly felt humiliating.
Trust.
I had spent twelve years treating trust like proof.
It wasn’t.
Trust without verification was simply permission.
I found hotel charges in New York.
Miami.
San Francisco.
One in Toronto.
Every charge had appeared during a medical conference or hospital trip.
At least, that was what Daniel had told me.
Then I found jewelry.
$6,700.
I had never received it.
A resort in Napa.
I had never been there.
A luxury apartment company in Chicago.
$4,900 every month.
My stomach tightened.
I searched the company.
Luxury furnished residences.
I stared at the screen.
Daniel had another apartment.
I called my attorney.
Not Daniel.
Not Lauren.
Not my best friend.
My attorney.
Her name was Claire Morgan.
She had handled the sale of my mother’s house after she died and had repeatedly told me to call if I ever needed anything.
She answered on the third ring.
“Rachel?”
“Are you busy?”
“Not anymore.”
Something in my voice must have warned her.
“What happened?”
“My husband is cheating on me.”
Silence.
Then Claire became very precise.
“Are you safe?”
“Yes.”
“Does he know you know?”
“Yes.”
“Do you share accounts?”
“Yes.”
“Do you have access?”
“Yes.”
“Good.”
I heard typing.
“Do not move money yet.”
“Why?”
“Because if he’s hiding marital assets, I want a clean record.”
I stared at the transactions.
“There’s more.”
“How much?”
“I don’t know.”
“Then don’t confront him about the money.”
“I already confronted him about the woman.”
“That’s different.”
Claire paused.
“Where is he?”
“At O’Hare.”
“Going where?”
“Rome.”
“With her?”
“And his family.”
Claire was silent again.
“His family?”
“His father and sister knew.”
“Rachel, listen carefully.”
Her voice changed.
“You need copies of everything.”
“I’m taking screenshots.”
“Good.”
“Should I go home?”
“Yes.”
“And Daniel?”
“Let him make his own decisions.”
That sentence stayed with me.
Let him make his own decisions.
For twelve years, I had protected Daniel from consequences.
I reminded him about birthdays.
Covered for him when he missed dinners.
Explained his absence to friends.
Defended his impossible work schedule.
Smoothed over arguments with his children.
Made excuses when he forgot promises.
Maybe that had been my biggest mistake.
Not loving him.
Protecting him from the cost of disappointing people.
I drove home.
Our house looked exactly the same.
That felt almost offensive.
The white hydrangeas still bloomed beside the porch.
Daniel’s coffee mug still sat in the dishwasher.
His running shoes were beside the garage door.
A framed photograph from our tenth anniversary sat on the entry table.
I stopped in front of it.
Daniel had his arm around me.
We looked happy.
Maybe I had been.
Maybe he had been too.
That was the cruelest possibility.
That some of it had been real.
I walked upstairs.
Daniel’s office was locked.
That was new.
He had never locked it before.
I tried the handle twice.
Then I remembered the spare key.
Daniel kept emergency keys inside an old wooden box in the garage.
Ten minutes later, I opened his office.
Nothing looked suspicious.
Desk.
Bookshelves.
Medical journals.
Family photographs.
I started with the drawers.
Nothing.
Then the filing cabinet.
Tax records.
Insurance documents.
Hospital contracts.
I photographed everything.
At the bottom was a blue folder.
No label.
Inside was a lease.
Luxury apartment.
West Loop.
Tenant.
Daniel Bennett.
Then I saw the second name.
Vanessa Cole.
Lease start date.
Fourteen months earlier.
I sat down.
Fourteen months.
This wasn’t an affair that had happened during a weak moment.
This was a second life.
I kept reading.
Then something else fell from the folder.
A printed itinerary.
Rome.
Seven nights.
Luxury suite.
Two adults.
Four family members.
And beneath it was a reservation for a private dinner.
I almost ignored it.
Then I saw the note.
“Celebration dinner.”
Celebrating what?
I turned the page.
And found the answer.
Daniel had booked an appointment with an Italian jeweler.
Private consultation.
Engagement collection.
My husband wasn’t simply taking his mistress on vacation.
May you like
He was apparently preparing to propose to her.
While still married to me.
