Chapter 4 - THE HOUSE WITH TWO SETS OF BOOKS
I did not wake Alexander immediately.
I saved the photograph, took screenshots, and forwarded everything to Marta.
Then I sat at the edge of my bed listening to my son snore faintly from the living room.
At seventy-two, fear felt different than it had when I was young.
It was less dramatic.
More practical.
I did not imagine monsters behind curtains.
I checked the lock.
I checked the windows.
I made sure my phone was charged.
Then I turned on every light in the apartment and waited for morning.
At six, Alexander woke and found me dressed at the kitchen table.
"You didn't sleep."
"Neither did you, really."
I showed him the message.
He went silent.
"Who sent this?"
"I don't know."
"Bianca."
"Maybe."
"Ewald."
"Maybe."
"Who else would it be?"
"Verify before we guess."
He hated hearing Marta's rule from me.
I could tell.
But he nodded.
We documented the message and contacted the police non-emergency line for guidance.
An officer took a report because the message was threatening enough to preserve but too vague to identify a sender immediately.
I did not expect sirens or handcuffs.
I wanted a record.
People who depend on intimidation often count on their victims staying embarrassed and quiet.
I was finished being embarrassed by somebody else's behavior.
At nine, Alexander received a call from his bank's fraud department.
The attempted transfer had been initiated through online banking using Bianca's usual device.
Because the destination account had received prior transfers, the system had initially treated it as normal.
Alexander's sudden freeze request had stopped it before completion.
He sat at my table staring at the confirmation email.
"She did it."
This time, we had verified.
"Call Marta."
He did.
Marta advised him to open individual accounts for his salary going forward and to preserve enough funds for legitimate shared obligations until legal arrangements were clarified.
She was careful with every instruction.
No revenge.
No emptying accounts first.
No dramatic financial warfare.
Only protection and documentation.
That disappointed Alexander at first.
"So she can try to take everything, but I have to be careful?"
Marta replied, "Careful is how you avoid becoming part of the problem."
By noon, Alexander had made another decision.
He wanted to retrieve his work equipment and personal documents from the house.
Bianca had sent twelve messages asking him to return.
Four were affectionate.
Three were furious.
Two accused me of manipulating him.
One threatened divorce.
One threatened to tell his employer he had been involved in Ewald's company.
The final message simply said: YOU SHOULD SEE WHAT YOUR MOTHER HAS DONE BEFORE YOU CHOOSE HER.
Alexander showed me that one twice.
"What do you think she means?"
"I think she wants you to ask."
"I'm asking you."
"And I don't know."
He studied my face as if checking whether I was hiding something.
That hurt.
Then I reminded myself that suspicion had become his new language overnight.
It was not personal yet.
At two, he arranged to enter the house with a neutral family friend named Jonas, a retired engineer who had known him since university.
I did not go.
Bianca would have turned my presence into the story.
Instead, I waited with Marta at her office.
Alexander called twenty minutes after entering the house.
His voice was tight.
"The office is empty."
"What do you mean empty?" Marta asked.
"My files are gone."
"Which files?"
"Tax records."
"Mortgage records."
"Old pay slips."
"Everything from the locking cabinet."
Marta asked, "Was the cabinet forced?"
"No."
"Who had keys?"
"Me and Bianca."
"Take photographs before touching anything."
Jonas could be heard in the background saying the same thing.
Alexander moved to the bedroom.
His passport was still there.
His birth certificate was not.
Their marriage certificate was gone.
Several old bank statements were missing.
Then he opened the bedroom closet.
"Oh, God."
Marta stood.
"What?"
"Her clothes are gone."
Not all of them.
But enough to suggest Bianca had packed.
Her jewelry box was gone too.
So was a small fireproof safe they kept under the bed.
Alexander had forgotten the safe existed.
"What was in it?" Marta asked.
"Cash."
"How much?"
"Maybe six thousand."
"Anything else?"
"Copies of our wills."
"Property papers."
"Some jewelry from her grandmother."
"And blank checks."
Marta went still.
"Blank checks from which account?"
Alexander swore softly.
"The joint account."
"Call the bank now."
He did.
The checks were stopped.
The bank added additional verification to the account.
Then Jonas called from another room.
"Alex, you need to see this."
The phone stayed connected as Alexander walked downstairs.
We heard a door open.
Then silence.
"What is it?" Marta asked.
Alexander did not answer.
"Alex?"
His voice finally came through.
"There's another file cabinet in the garage."
"Is that unusual?"
"I've never seen it before."
It had been hidden behind stacked storage bins.
Unlike the office cabinet, it was locked.
Jonas advised Alexander not to force it.
The cabinet belonged in the marital home, but nobody wanted to create a new argument about damage or ownership.
They photographed it.
Then Alexander noticed an envelope taped beneath a shelf nearby.
It had his name on it.
Inside were photocopies of invoices from Ewald Consulting Services.
The invoices described consulting projects that sounded vaguely familiar.
Energy analysis.
Home efficiency restructuring.
Contract review.
Engineering advisory.
Alexander's employer performed work in all those areas.
His face went cold.
"These look like projects from my company."
Marta asked, "Are they?"
"The names are slightly different."
"But the numbers..."
He stopped.
"What numbers?"
"The budget figures."
"I recognize them."
"From where?"
"Internal proposals."
The room in Marta's office suddenly felt smaller.
"Did you ever give Ewald internal documents?"
"No."
"Did Bianca have access to your work computer?"
Alexander hesitated.
"It was at home."
"Password protected?"
"Yes."
"Did she know the password?"
He looked away from the phone camera.
"Maybe."
Marta pressed him.
"Alexander."
"She watched me type it plenty of times."
"Did you reuse that password anywhere else?"
"Yes."
Marta closed her eyes for a second.
"Change everything you have not already changed."
Alexander sounded sick.
"Could she have taken company information?"
"Maybe."
"Do not accuse her yet."
"Contact your employer's security or legal team and tell them you found documents at home resembling internal material."
"Do not send the documents until they tell you how."
Alexander was terrified of losing his job.
I could hear it in every breath.
"Mom, if she did this through my computer, they'll blame me."
"Maybe."
"That's not comforting."
"Comfort is not what you need right now."
"You need facts."
He was quiet.
"You're right."
An hour later, Alexander's employer placed him on temporary administrative leave while they reviewed access logs.
He took the news badly.
By the time he returned to Marta's office, he looked hollow.
"Twenty years," he said.
"I worked there twenty years."
"One day and my marriage is collapsing, my accounts are frozen, and my job thinks I may have leaked information."
I reached for his hand.
He pulled away.
Not angrily.
Instinctively.
Then he saw my face and regretted it.
"Mom, I can't do this."
"Yes, you can."
"No."
He stood.
"I should go home and talk to her."
Marta said, "That is your decision."
I looked at her in surprise.
She continued.
"But if you go, go knowing what is verified."
"A transfer was attempted from your account to her father's company."
"Documents bearing your signature authorize payments you do not remember approving."
"Your wife's inquiry about your mother's care and property is real."
"Documents disappeared from your home after you left."
"And invoices resembling your employer's information were found in your garage."
Marta folded her hands.
"If you still want to talk to Bianca, talk to her."
"Just do not trade facts for promises because the facts hurt."
Alexander sat down again.
That sentence saved him from going home that afternoon.
At five, his employer called back.
The security team had reviewed preliminary login records.
Alexander's credentials had accessed several sensitive files from his home network late at night over the previous year.
Sometimes Alexander was traveling for work on those nights.
He could prove it.
The investigator on the phone asked whether anyone else lived in the house.
Alexander answered, "My wife."
Then came the question that changed the entire direction of the investigation.
"Does your wife have any relationship with Ewald Consulting Services?"
Alexander looked at me.
"Ewald is her father."
The investigator went silent.
When he spoke again, his tone was different.
"Mr. Morgen, do not contact Mr. Ewald about this conversation."
"Why?"
"Because one of the invoices you described matches a bid submitted by Ewald Consulting Services to a company that competed against us last year."
Alexander's face went white.
"Are you saying they stole information from my employer?"
"I'm saying we are investigating."
"Do not destroy anything."
"Do not confront anyone about the files."
"And preserve every device you control."
The call ended.
Alexander stared at the dark phone screen.
Then another notification appeared.
An email from Bianca.
No message.
Only an attachment.
The file name was DIVORCE_PETITION_DRAFT.pdf.
Alexander opened it.
The first page accused him of financial abuse.
The second accused him of allowing me to interfere in their marriage.
The third claimed he had secretly transferred marital assets to his mother.
The fourth contained a demand that he leave the marital home and continue paying all household expenses.
Then came the paragraph that made him stop reading.
Bianca alleged that Alexander had knowingly participated in financial transactions through Ewald Consulting Services.
She had placed his signature beneath the accusation.
Not copied.
Not scanned.
His actual signature.
Alexander whispered, "She kept the pages I signed."
Marta leaned over his shoulder.
At the bottom of the document was a date.
Three weeks before Mother's Day.
May you like
Bianca had prepared for the marriage to explode long before I ever placed a recorder beneath the flowerpot.
