Chapter 8 - THE HOUSE
I wanted to call Preston and scream.
Rachel told me not to.
“Don’t give him a warning,” she said. “Give the evidence to the right people.”
The house still belonged to both of us, which made the situation complicated.
But the text helped.
Lose something?
You should have stayed out of my business.
Rachel forwarded everything to the attorney handling our separation.
Then she asked a question I hadn’t expected.
“Do you have a doorbell camera?”
“Yes.”
“Check it.”
My hands shook as I opened the app.
There he was.
Preston.
Entering the house at 2:08 that afternoon.
Leaving forty-three minutes later carrying two banker boxes.
He had practically filmed himself.
That should have made me feel better.
Instead, I felt exhausted.
Seventeen years.
How many times had I mistaken confidence for honesty?
Two days later, my mother came to the apartment with groceries.
“You’re too thin.”
“I lost three pounds.”
“Exactly.”
I laughed for the first time all week.
While she unpacked soup, she looked around.
“This place is peaceful.”
“It is.”
“Are you lonely?”
I thought about it.
“Sometimes.”
She nodded.
“Those aren’t the same thing.”
“What?”
“Peaceful and lonely.”
She put a carton of milk in the refrigerator.
“You can fix lonely. It’s harder to fix living with someone who makes you feel small.”
I leaned against the counter.
“Why didn’t you ever tell me you hated how he treated me?”
Mom turned.
“Because you loved him.”
“That stopped you?”
“No. Respecting you stopped me.”
That hurt in a completely different way.
All those years Preston called my parents controlling.
Yet they had waited.
Asked questions.
Let me choose.
My phone rang.
Raymond.
I answered.
“Abigail, I need to warn you.”
My mother stopped moving.
“About what?”
“We interviewed Mason this morning.”
I gripped the phone.
“And?”
“He’s cooperating.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means Northline was created to bill Hail for consulting work that was either inflated or never performed.”
My chest tightened.
“And Preston?”
“Mason says Preston designed the arrangement.”
I sat down.
Raymond continued.
“He also says some of the money Preston received was used to cover personal investment losses.”
The failed Dayton deal flashed through my mind.
“He wasn’t an investor.”
“We believe he was.”
I went cold.
“He told me we never invested because I refused to sign.”
“Maybe you didn’t.”
Raymond paused.
“But Preston may have invested anyway.”
“How?”
“We’re still finding out.”
May you like
Then he said the sentence that made me stop breathing.
“Abigail, we found your name on one of the documents.”
