PART 5
My father looked at the photograph again.
Then he looked at me.
“Do you know this address?”
“Yes.”
My voice was barely above a whisper.
“Julian showed it to me last year.”
Daniel leaned forward.
“What did he tell you?”
“That it was a house we couldn’t afford yet.”
My mother frowned.
“He showed you the house?”
I nodded.
“He said the owners were thinking about selling. He told me we should keep saving because maybe, someday, we could buy something like it.”
Dad’s expression hardened.
“Did he ever take you inside?”
“No.”
“Did you ever meet the owners?”
“No.”
“Did he tell you how he knew about it?”
“He said a friend of his was a real estate agent.”
Dad looked at Daniel.
Daniel was already reaching for his laptop.
“Give me the address.”
I read it aloud.
He typed.
A few seconds later, he looked at the screen.
“It’s registered to Mercer Property Solutions.”
My mother closed her eyes.
I felt sick.
Dad asked, “When was it purchased?”
Daniel checked.
“Fourteen months ago.”
I stared at him.
Fourteen months.
That was almost exactly when Julian had started asking me to increase my contributions to our savings account.
The realization hit so hard I had to grip the edge of the table.
“He used our money.”
Dad nodded slowly.
“Possibly.”
I looked at him.
“Possibly?”
“We need to prove exactly where the money came from.”
“I know where it came from.”
My voice cracked.
“From me.”
Dad shook his head.
“We need records.”
I understood.
Evidence.
Not anger.
Not suspicion.
Evidence.
That was what would finally separate what I felt from what I could prove.
Daniel turned the laptop toward me.
“Look.”
A property record was displayed on the screen.
Purchase price:
$312,000.
I stared at the number.
Our savings withdrawals totaled more than $38,000.
The rest had come from somewhere else.
I looked at Dad.
“Where did the other money come from?”
He didn’t answer.
Daniel did.
“That’s what we need to find out.”
My phone rang again.
Julian.
I let it ring.
Then it stopped.
A minute later, another message arrived.
Come home. We need to talk.
I stared at it.
Then another message.
Please, Elena.
That one frightened me more than the angry messages.
Because Julian never said please unless he needed something.
I looked at Dad.
“I need to go home.”
Dad shook his head.
“No.”
“I can’t hide here.”
“You’re not hiding.”
“I need to know what he’s going to do.”
Dad thought for a moment.
Then he said, “You’re not going alone.”
Daniel stood.
“I’ll drive.”
I shook my head.
“No.”
Everyone looked at me.
“I don’t want him thinking I brought an army.”
Dad nodded.
“Then I will come with you.”
I looked at him.
“No.”
“Elena—”
“I need to do this myself.”
My father studied my face.
Then he nodded.
“All right.”
He placed his hand over mine.
“But if anything feels wrong, you leave.”
“I will.”
“And don’t sign anything.”
“I won’t.”
“And don’t give him any documents.”
“I won’t.”
Dad leaned back.
“Then go.”
I drove home in silence.
For the first time in years, I didn’t rehearse what I would say.
I didn’t worry about keeping Julian calm.
I didn’t wonder whether I was being unfair.
I simply wanted the truth.
When I pulled into the driveway, Julian was waiting.
He stood beside the front door.
The Camry was not there.
I parked.
He watched me walk toward him.
“You came.”
“Yes.”
He opened the door.
“Come inside.”
I did.
The house looked exactly the same.
Our wedding photograph was still on the mantel.
Our wedding invitation was still framed in the hallway.
The plant he gave me on our first anniversary sat by the window.
Everything looked normal.
And somehow that made it worse.
Julian closed the door.
“We need to talk.”
“I know.”
He walked into the living room.
I remained standing.
He turned.
“Your father is trying to destroy our marriage.”
I almost laughed.
“No, Julian.”
He frowned.
“You don’t understand.”
“I understand more than I did yesterday.”
