PART5

I looked toward the entrance.

“I think I need to go home.”

Victoria nodded.

“I understand.”

Then she added one more thing.

“Mrs. Carter, there is something else you should know.”

My stomach tightened again.

“What?”

“The loan guarantee isn’t the only document that contains a questionable signature.”

I stared at her.

“What do you mean?”

She opened the folder to another section.

“This document concerns a property transaction.”

She turned the page toward me.

My home address appeared again.

Except this time, it wasn’t a loan agreement.

It was a transfer authorization.

And the property listed at the top was our apartment.

The home Alex and I had bought after our wedding.

The home where I had painted the bedroom a soft cream color because he said it made the room feel peaceful.

The home where we had celebrated our first Christmas together.

The home where I had sat alone on countless evenings, warming dinner while he texted that he was working late.

According to the document, the apartment had been pledged as security for another financial arrangement.

I could barely speak.

“Can he do that without me?”

“That depends on the ownership structure, the terms of the relevant agreements, and applicable law,” Victoria said. “That’s why you need independent legal advice. I can’t determine your legal position for you here.”

“But I never agreed to this.”

“I understand.”

I pressed my fingers against my forehead.

For a moment, I couldn’t breathe.

Then a question forced its way out of my mouth.

“Was this happening while he was seeing Claire?”

Victoria looked at me carefully.

“I can’t confirm when every decision was made. But the records we have reviewed include transactions dating back several months.”

Several months.

I remembered our anniversary dinner reservation.

I remembered buying his birthday present.

I remembered him holding me on the couch and promising that we would start trying for a baby once his work settled down.

I remembered believing him.

And somewhere during those same months, someone had been placing my name on documents I had never seen.

I looked toward the booth where Alex had been sitting.

His champagne was still there.

The little black ring box was still open.

A waiter was quietly clearing the untouched plates.

The restaurant had returned to its usual rhythm, but I couldn’t understand how anyone could keep eating dinner when my entire life had just fallen apart.

I picked up my handbag.

Then I stopped.

There was one thing I needed to ask.

“Does Claire know about any of this?”

Victoria followed my gaze.

“I don’t know what she knows. You should not assume she was involved simply because she was in a relationship with your husband.”

I nodded.

She was right.

I didn’t have enough information to blame Claire for anything beyond what I had personally witnessed.

But I had enough information to know that I could no longer trust Alex.

Not with my heart.

Not with my money.

And certainly not with my signature.

I slipped the documents Victoria had provided into my bag.

Then I walked out of the restaurant alone.

The night air was cold enough to sting my cheeks.

I stood on the sidewalk for several minutes, watching taxis pass beneath the streetlights.

My phone vibrated.

Alex.

I stared at his name.

For a brief moment, the old version of me wanted to answer.

The woman who would have picked up immediately because she worried when he sounded upset.

The woman who would have listened to his explanation, accepted his apology, and tried to find a way to make everything right.

But that woman had spent the evening sitting alone at a table while her husband lied to her from two tables away.

I let the call go unanswered.

A message appeared.

Emma, please don’t do anything stupid. We need to talk privately.

Another followed.

You don’t understand what’s happening.

Then another.

Those people are trying to destroy me.

I read the messages without replying.

Finally, one more appeared.

If you love me at all, come home and let me explain.

I stared at that sentence for a long time.

He was still using love as a key.

Still trying to open a door that he had spent the evening setting on fire.

I put my phone away and called a taxi.

When I arrived at our apartment, the first thing I noticed was how ordinary everything looked.

The lamps were off.

The living room was tidy.

A small framed photograph from our wedding sat on the bookshelf.

In it, Alex was smiling at me as if I were the only woman in the world.

I walked over and picked it up.

I remembered that day so clearly.

He had cried when he saw me walking toward him.

He had promised to protect me.

He had promised that I would never have to face life’s difficulties alone.

I placed the photograph facedown on the shelf.

Then I went into the study.

Alex’s desk was exactly as he had left it that morning.

His laptop sat beside a stack of business folders. A leather organizer lay open, revealing neatly arranged pens and business cards.

I didn’t touch the computer.

I remembered Victoria’s advice.

Preserve records. Don’t destroy anything. Seek independent legal advice.

Instead, I looked for the envelope I remembered receiving three weeks earlier.

It wasn’t in the top drawer.

It wasn’t in the filing cabinet.

It wasn’t beneath the papers on his desk.

I checked the shelf where Alex kept our mortgage documents.

Nothing.

Then I noticed a small metal filing box beneath the desk.

It was locked.

I had never seen it before.

My first instinct was to open it.

My second was to stop.

If those documents concerned an investigation, I didn’t want to do anything that could create more problems for me.

I took a photograph of the box where it sat, then stepped back.

I wasn’t going to become the person who broke rules just because Alex might have broken them first.

Instead, I returned to the living room and called my older sister, Natalie.

She answered on the second ring.

“Emma? It’s nearly midnight. Are you okay?”

The moment I heard her voice, I began to cry.

Not loudly.

Not dramatically.

I simply sat down on the floor beside the couch and cried like someone who had been holding her breath for months.

Natalie didn’t interrupt.

She waited until I could speak.

Then she said, “I’m coming over.”

“It’s late.”

“I don’t care.”

“Nat—”

“Emma, listen to me. You don’t have to explain everything on the phone. Just unlock the door when I arrive.”

CONTINUE FOR NEXT PART6…