Chapter 5 - The Woman Who Followed Us Here
I needed to talk to someone who could think straight and wouldn't fall apart on my behalf.
I called my sister, Dana. She picked up on the second ring.
"Hey. What's wrong?"
"Why do you assume something's wrong?"
"Because you never call before nine on a workday. Talk."
I told her all of it. The key card. The bag. Nicole's call. Sophie's description. The second phone. The messages. The photo. The LinkedIn page that still said Denver.
Dana was quiet for a second after I stopped.
"How are you holding it together right now?" she finally asked.
"I don't know," I said. "I think I'm still in the part where it doesn't feel real."
"Okay." Her voice went practical. "Don't confront him yet. Not till you know what you want."
"That's where I'm at."
"Do you have a lawyer? Somebody you could just talk to, to know where you stand?"
"Not yet."
"I know one. She handled Sharon's divorce a couple years back. She's sharp and she does not play around. I'll text you her number." A beat. "Don't call his office. Don't call Kristen. Don't do one single thing that tells him you know."
"I won't."
"And leave that burner exactly where it is. Don't move it. That's evidence."
After we hung up I felt a fraction steadier. Not better. Just less alone in it.
I got Sophie to school, came home, and sat at the table with the attorney's name in my phone — Diane Foster — and made the call.
Her assistant put me through in ten minutes.
"Tell me what you have," Diane said, once I'd given her the outline.
I told her about the phone, the messages, the key card, the photos I'd taken.
"Good. The photos help. The phone itself would be better, but we work with what's in front of us. Has he given you any reason to think he's moving money or hiding assets?"
The question threw me. "I don't know. I don't think so."
"Do you have access to your joint accounts?"
"Yes."
"Log in today. Screenshot every current balance. Checking, savings, anything with both your names on it. Before end of business."
"Okay."
"Don't move money. Don't withdraw anything. Just document what exists right now." A pause. "One more thing. Any chance he already knows that you know?"
I thought about the phone call. His easy voice. Love you. Nothing careful in it anywhere.
"No," I said. "He has no idea."
"Keep it that way. Can you come in Thursday?"
Thursday. The day his message named. Same room. I'll book it.
"Yes," I said. "Thursday works."
I hung up and opened the bank app. Joint checking. Joint savings. The investment account Ethan managed. I screenshotted each one into a folder locked behind its own passcode.
The balances looked normal. Nothing obviously gone.
But as I closed the app, I caught something. A recurring transfer I didn't recognize — small, two hundred dollars a month, going to an account I'd never seen. Running for seven months.
I screenshotted it separately and emailed it to Diane with a one-line note.
Her reply came within the hour. Good catch. We'll dig into it. See you Thursday.
I put the phone down and looked around the kitchen. Sophie's cereal bowl in the sink. Coffee cups on the counter. The garage door Ethan had backed through that morning without a glance.
Everything the same. Everything completely different.
My phone buzzed. A text from Ethan.
Thinking about you. Dinner tonight? I'll cook.
I looked at it a while.
May you like
Then I typed: Sounds good.
I set the phone face-down and went to fold laundry, because I needed something to do with my hands, and because I had three days to hold this together before Thursday.
