Chapter 5 - THE MAN WHO CAME WITH MY HUSBAND
Security footage doesn’t care about your marriage.
It doesn’t care about excuses.
Or intentions.
Or whether somebody “meant well.”
It shows what happened.
At 10:38 p.m., six weeks earlier, Graham walked through the side entrance of the museum with a temporary visitor badge.
Beside him was another man.
Richard Sanders.
I stared at the screen.
“That’s Richard.”
Nora nodded.
My chest felt hollow.
“What were they doing here?”
Security pulled another camera.
Graham and Richard walked down the administrative corridor.
Stopped near my office.
Graham swiped a card.
The door opened.
My card.
I whispered, “No.”
Nora looked at me.
“Did you give him your badge?”
“Never.”
Then I remembered.
That night.
I had left my purse on the kitchen counter while I showered.
Later, I couldn’t find my badge.
Graham “found” it under the passenger seat of my car the next morning.
Except I hadn’t driven anywhere.
My stomach turned.
“How long were they inside?”
“Eleven minutes.”
The next camera showed them leaving.
Richard held a folder.
I sat down.
Nora paused the footage.
“Do you recognize it?”
Yes.
Black binder.
Silver label.
Whitmore Gala.
I covered my mouth.
Not because I was going to cry.
Because I thought I might be sick.
“I didn’t know.”
“I believe you.”
I looked at her.
“What happens now?”
“We contact Richard.”
“Before Thanksgiving?”
Nora’s expression didn’t change.
“This stopped being about Thanksgiving.”
She was right.
My phone started vibrating.
Graham.
Again.
And again.
Finally, I answered.
“What?”
“Elise, please.”
His voice was low.
Panicked.
That scared me more than anger.
“Where are you?”
“At work.”
“Did Nora call you?”
I said nothing.
“Oh, God.”
“So you knew she would.”
“Elise, Richard and I came by the museum one night.”
“You stole my badge.”
“I borrowed it.”
“Without asking.”
“I was going to put it right back.”
“You entered my office.”
“We didn’t touch anything confidential.”
“I watched you leave with a binder.”
Silence.
“Graham?”
“It wasn’t what it looked like.”
I laughed.
I couldn’t help it.
“What did it look like?”
“We needed sponsor information.”
“You needed?”
“Richard was trying to understand the donor landscape.”
“That sentence sounds very expensive.”
“Elise, listen to me. Most of that information was publicly available.”
“Then why did you need my badge?”
Silence.
There are moments when a marriage ends emotionally before anyone files paperwork.
That was mine.
Not because he had made a mistake.
Because even cornered, he was still looking for better wording.
Then he said, “Richard didn’t know I hadn’t asked you.”
I froze.
“What?”
“I told him you gave me permission.”
My hand went numb around the phone.
Of course he had.
Just like Thanksgiving.
Just like the January dinner.
Every door Graham wanted opened came with the same key.
Me.
Or rather, the fake version of me he had created.
The helpful wife.
The connected wife.
The wife who always said yes.
“Come home tonight,” I said.
He exhaled in relief.
“Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me.”
“Elise—”
“Come alone.”
“What are you going to do?”
I looked through the glass wall at Nora and the attorney waiting outside.
“For once, Graham?”
May you like
I ended the call.
“You’re going to hear me say no.”
