Chapter 2 - WHAT HE WANTED TO HIDE
I stared at Lauren's message until the words blurred.
Emma sat quietly behind me while traffic rushed past the gas station windows.
Every instinct I had told me to drive somewhere safe.
Every angry part of me wanted to beat Michael home and tear the house apart.
The mother in me won.
I called my best friend, Tessa.
She answered on the second ring.
"Hey, what's wrong?"
I could not find a normal way to say any of it.
"Can Emma stay with you tonight?"
Tessa's voice changed immediately.
"Yes."
She did not ask why first.
That was one of the reasons I loved her.
"We're about fifteen minutes away."
"Bring her here."
Then she added one sentence that almost made me cry.
"You can come too."
I looked at Emma in the mirror.
"I need to take care of something first."
Tessa hesitated.
"Claire, are you safe?"
I thought about Diane's hand across my face.
I thought about Michael grabbing my wrist.
I thought about the warning from the sister who had been sleeping with my husband.
"I don't know."
That was the most truthful answer I had.
I drove to Tessa's townhouse in Oak Park.
She was waiting outside before I even pulled into the driveway.
Emma got out and ran to her.
Tessa wrapped both arms around her and looked at me over the top of Emma's head.
Her eyes dropped to my cheek.
The redness from Diane's slap was still visible.
"Who did that?"
"Diane."
Tessa's face went hard.
"Where's Michael?"
"Probably on his way to our house."
She stared at me.
"Why?"
I held up my phone.
"Because apparently my sister knows something he doesn't want me to find."
Tessa went still.
"Your sister?"
I nodded.
"Lauren has been sleeping with him."
Tessa closed her eyes briefly.
"Oh, Claire."
I could not handle sympathy yet.
Anger was the only thing keeping me upright.
"I need you to keep Emma here."
"I'm coming with you."
"No."
"That wasn't a question."
I looked toward Emma.
She was standing three feet away and listening.
I lowered my voice.
"She needs one adult who isn't falling apart."
Tessa understood immediately.
She nodded once.
"Call me when you get there."
I kissed Emma's forehead.
"I'm going to pick up some things from home."
Emma wrapped both arms around my waist.
"Don't fight again."
The words hit me harder than I expected.
I knelt beside her.
"I won't."
"Promise?"
"I promise."
I left before my face could betray me.
The drive home took twenty-two minutes.
I made it in seventeen.
Michael's SUV was already in the driveway.
Lauren had been right.
I parked across the street instead of pulling in.
Our two-story brick house looked completely ordinary.
The porch light was on.
The living room curtains were open.
A football game flickered silently on the television because Michael had left it running when we went to Diane's.
Nothing looked broken.
Nothing looked different.
That was the strange part about betrayal.
The walls do not change color when your life does.
I called the non-emergency police number.
I told the dispatcher there had been a domestic confrontation at a family dinner, that my husband had entered our shared home, and that I wanted to retrieve personal items without another confrontation.
The dispatcher told me an officer could meet me there.
I hated needing that.
I hated even more that I did not trust Michael enough to go inside alone.
While I waited, I texted Lauren.
WHAT IS HE LOOKING FOR?
The typing bubble appeared immediately.
Then disappeared.
Then appeared again.
Finally, her answer came.
A BLUE FOLDER.
I stared at the screen.
WHERE?
Her reply took longer.
YOUR OFFICE.
I looked at the dark window above the garage.
That room had been my office since before Michael moved in.
I ran my bookkeeping business from there.
Michael rarely had any reason to go inside.
At least that was what I had believed.
A patrol car pulled up behind me.
Two officers approached my window.
I explained only what was necessary.
I did not tell them about Lauren.
I did not tell them about the affair.
I said I needed clothing, medication, Emma's school things, and some work files.
One officer walked with me to the front door.
I used my key.
The deadbolt had already been unlocked.
Michael appeared in the hallway before I reached the stairs.
He looked stunned when he saw the uniform behind me.
"Seriously?"
I stepped inside.
"Move."
Michael glanced at the officer.
"This is my house too."
The officer remained calm.
"She's here to collect belongings."
Michael looked back at me.
"Claire, we need to talk."
"Not tonight."
"You cannot just disappear with Emma."
I stopped on the first stair.
"She is my daughter."
His jaw tightened.
"I've raised her for three years."
"Then maybe you should have remembered her before sleeping with her aunt."
His face flushed.
The officer looked away politely.
I climbed the stairs.
My bedroom looked like someone had searched it.
The dresser drawers were half open.
A stack of old tax documents sat on the bed.
The closet doors were wide apart.
I turned toward Michael.
"What are you looking for?"
He stopped in the doorway.
"Nothing."
I almost smiled.
"You're bad at lying when you're scared."
"I'm not scared."
"Then why did you beat me here?"
He did not answer.
I packed clothes for Emma and myself into two suitcases.
Then I walked toward my office.
Michael stepped in front of me.
"You don't need anything in there."
The officer immediately shifted closer.
I stared at Michael.
"Get out of my way."
He looked at the officer, then stepped aside.
My office door was open.
It had been closed when I left for dinner.
Papers covered the floor.
The bottom drawer of my filing cabinet had been pulled completely out.
The small fireproof document box I kept under the desk sat open.
My passport was lying beside it.
Emma's birth certificate was missing.
I turned around.
"Where is Emma's birth certificate?"
Michael looked genuinely confused.
"I don't know."
"It was in that box."
"I didn't take it."
The officer looked at him.
"Were you searching this room?"
Michael hesitated too long.
"I was looking for some insurance paperwork."
I almost laughed again.
"At nine o'clock on a Sunday night?"
He ignored me.
I looked around for the blue folder.
There were black folders, green folders, red folders, and a stack of manila envelopes.
No blue folder.
Michael watched my eyes move around the room.
He knew what I was searching for.
That confirmed Lauren's warning.
I crouched beside the filing cabinet.
One drawer had a false bottom I installed years ago after an employee stole checks from a previous office.
Michael did not know about it.
I slid my fingers beneath the metal lip and lifted.
A blue folder was underneath.
Michael made a sound behind me.
It was barely audible.
But I heard it.
I pulled the folder out.
His face lost all color.
"Claire."
I stood.
"What is this?"
"Give it to me."
The officer stepped between us.
"Sir."
Michael stopped moving.
I opened the folder.
The first page was a copy of a bank statement from an account I had never seen.
The account was in Michael's name.
Large transfers had been made every Thursday for months.
Several went to a company called LBM Consulting.
I had no idea what LBM Consulting was.
Then I saw the address.
It was Lauren's apartment.
My hands went numb.
I flipped to the next page.
There were hotel receipts.
Restaurant receipts.
Parking garage tickets.
A printed email confirmation for a suite downtown.
Then came something worse.
A copy of a home equity application.
My name was on it.
So was my signature.
I had never signed it.
I read the loan amount twice.
Two hundred and forty thousand dollars.
The document listed our house as collateral.
I looked up at Michael.
"What is this?"
He said nothing.
The officer's expression changed.
"Ma'am, is that your signature?"
"It looks like mine."
I held the page up.
"But I did not sign this."
Michael immediately spoke.
"It was preliminary paperwork."
I stared at him.
"Why is there a notary stamp?"
He looked toward the floor.
My eyes dropped to the stamp.
I recognized the name.
Diane Carter.
My mother-in-law was a commissioned notary for her real estate business.
I felt suddenly sick.
"Your mother notarized my forged signature."
Michael stepped forward.
"Claire, you don't understand what happened."
"Then explain it."
He looked at the police officer.
"Not in front of him."
I closed the folder.
"Then you don't get to explain tonight."
I packed my laptop and several financial files.
Michael followed me downstairs without speaking.
At the front door, he finally tried again.
"Please don't take that folder to anyone."
I looked back at him.
"Why?"
He swallowed.
"Because it doesn't just affect me."
"Who else does it affect?"
Michael's eyes moved toward the officer again.
"My mother."
I almost smiled.
"That sounds like her problem."
He shook his head.
"No, Claire."
His voice dropped.
"It affects your sister too."
I froze.
The folder suddenly felt heavier in my hands.
"What did Lauren do?"
Michael would not answer.
I walked to my car.
The officer waited until I was safely inside.
I drove back toward Tessa's house with the blue folder on the passenger seat.
Halfway there, my phone rang.
Lauren again.
This time I answered immediately.
"What did you do?"
She started crying before I finished the question.
"Claire, I didn't know at first."
"Know what?"
"What the money was."
My stomach tightened.
"What money?"
"The transfers."
I looked at the blue folder beside me.
"Why was Michael sending you money every Thursday?"
Lauren whispered her answer.
"Because he needed an account Diane couldn't trace back to him."
I gripped the steering wheel.
"For what?"
Lauren took a shaking breath.
"He said he was trying to protect you."
"From what?"
Her answer came so quietly I almost missed it.
"From his mother."
I nearly laughed at the absurdity.
"His mother just helped him forge my signature on a two-hundred-and-forty-thousand-dollar loan."
Lauren went silent.
"You found the folder."
"Yes."
"Then you need to look behind the bank statements."
I pulled into an empty pharmacy parking lot.
I turned on the interior light.
"Why?"
Lauren was crying harder now.
"Because that's where he kept copies of the checks."
I opened the folder with one hand.
Behind the statements was a clear plastic sleeve.
Inside were photocopies of checks made out to companies I had never heard of.
One check was for eighty-five thousand dollars.
Another was for sixty thousand.
The largest was for one hundred and ten thousand.
Every check carried Michael's signature.
The company name at the top belonged to Carter Development Group, the business Michael ran with Diane.
I stared at Lauren's name on the endorsement line of one cashier's check.
"Lauren, why is your name on this?"
She sobbed.
"Because I cashed it."
I closed my eyes.
"Why?"
"Because Michael told me Diane was stealing from the company."
I looked at the documents again.
"And you believed him?"
Lauren hesitated.
That hesitation answered me.
"You didn't do it because you believed him."
May you like
She whispered the truth.
"I did it because by then I was already in love with him."
