Chapter 4 - THE RESERVE ACCOUNT
Two million dollars does not simply disappear.
It moves.
The question was where.
Nolan left Lena's office to find his own attorney, and I stayed behind with the photocopies he had lawfully provided from documents he was permitted to access in his role.
Lena would not let me touch anything else.
"We do this cleanly," she said.
"I know."
"You know it as a lawyer."
She pointed at me.
"I need you to know it as a furious wife."
I looked down at the forged guarantee.
"I'm getting there."
"Good."
We created a preservation list.
The car recording.
The guarantee drafts.
The email chain with George.
The forged signature PDF.
The North Lake corporate filings.
The Meridian invoices.
The voicemail from Alistair to Nolan.
Then Lena asked the question I had been avoiding.
"Do you want to file for divorce now?"
I stared through the conference room window at downtown Minneapolis.
Seven years of marriage reduced to a procedural decision.
It should have felt impossible.
Instead, it felt overdue.
"Yes."
Lena nodded once.
"Then we prepare carefully."
"No dramatic service at the hospital."
"I wasn't going to suggest one."
"No theatrics."
"Agreed."
"I want financial disclosures, temporary protections if appropriate, and clean preservation requests."
"That's exactly what I was going to recommend."
"And I don't want Paige dragged into it unless the facts require it."
Lena studied me.
"That's generous."
"No."
I shook my head.
"It's strategic."
I remembered Paige crying beside Alistair's bed.
I remembered how Martha had comforted her.
Paige knew about me or she did not.
Either answer mattered.
But I refused to invent facts because I hated what her presence represented.
At one thirty, I received an email from Alistair.
Subject line: OUR MARRIAGE.
The body contained six paragraphs of emotional language and one sentence that mattered.
Please do not contact Finch Dynamics employees, investors, lenders, vendors, or advisors without my written consent.
I laughed for the first time in twenty-four hours.
Lena looked up.
"What?"
I showed her.
"He thinks he can order me not to speak to people."
"He can ask."
"Very politely, apparently."
"Do not reply yet."
I didn't.
At two ten, Gavin called.
"I found where some of the reserve may have gone."
"Tell me."
"I can't trace a bank account directly."
"I know."
"But I found two property purchases recorded this week."
"By whom?"
"North Lake Residential bought a lake house near Wayzata for 1.15 million."
I stood up.
"When?"
"Closing recorded yesterday."
"Yesterday was the day of the crash."
"Correct."
"Anything else?"
"Another LLC called Finch Legacy Holdings bought a commercial condo for 610,000."
"Manager?"
"Martha Finch."
For a moment, I could only listen to the sound of my own breathing.
"When was Finch Legacy formed?"
"Eight months ago."
"Mailing address?"
"George and Martha's house."
"Where did the money come from?"
"Public records don't show that."
"But the timing is remarkable."
"Very."
"Send me everything."
When the documents arrived, I printed them.
The lake house deed was ordinary on its face.
The commercial condo deed was ordinary too.
Ordinary documents were often the most dangerous because they looked harmless until placed beside the right timeline.
I built the timeline on paper.
Three weeks ago, Finch Dynamics began circulating closing drafts for a major investment.
Two weeks ago, Alistair increased pressure on me to sign the guarantee.
One week ago, a forged version of my signature appeared in the closing room.
Yesterday morning, the company reserve account dropped by roughly two million dollars.
Yesterday afternoon, North Lake closed on a lake house.
Finch Legacy closed on a commercial condominium.
Yesterday evening, Alistair crashed his car while discussing leaving me after the investment round.
The timing did not prove the source of funds.
But it demanded an explanation.
At three, my phone rang from an unknown number.
I answered cautiously.
"Jacqueline Ross?"
A woman's voice.
Young.
Unsteady.
"Yes."
"This is Paige Monroe."
Everything around me seemed to sharpen.
Lena saw my expression and stopped typing.
"How did you get my number?" I asked.
"Martha gave it to me a long time ago."
That answer hurt in a way I had not expected.
Martha had given my number to my husband's mistress.
"Why are you calling?"
Paige began crying quietly.
"Because Alistair called me."
I said nothing.
"He told me not to talk to you."
"And yet you're calling."
"Because he also told me something else."
"What?"
Her breathing became uneven.
"He said if anyone asks, I have to say the apartment was a gift from George."
I looked at Lena.
"Was it?"
"I don't know."
"What were you told when you moved in?"
"Alistair said it was his."
"Did you know a company owned it?"
"No."
"Did you know the company was managed by George?"
"No."
She sounded genuinely confused.
I did not trust that yet.
"Paige, did you know Alistair was married to me?"
Silence.
Then she whispered, "Not at first."
My throat tightened.
"When did you find out?"
"When I was pregnant."
I closed my eyes.
"And you stayed."
"He told me you were separated."
"We weren't."
"I know that now."
"How long have you known?"
Another silence.
"A year."
That answer destroyed any sympathy I had started to feel.
"Then why are you calling me today?"
Her voice changed.
Less tearful.
More frightened.
"Because I think he lied to me about more than you."
"Such as?"
"He told me the lake house was for Matty."
I looked at the deed on my desk.
"What lake house?"
"Near Wayzata."
The room went quiet.
"How do you know about it?"
"He took me there last week."
"Did he tell you who was paying for it?"
"He said the company owed him money."
I wrote that down.
"Anything else?"
Paige hesitated so long I thought the call had dropped.
Then she said, "There's a safe."
"Where?"
"At the condo."
"Whose?"
"Alistair's."
"Do you know what's in it?"
"No."
"Do not open it for me."
"I wasn't going to."
"Do not remove anything."
"Okay."
"Do not destroy anything."
"I won't."
"If you think you need legal advice, get your own lawyer."
She started crying again.
"You sound exactly like him when he's scared."
I almost asked what she meant.
Instead, I waited.
Paige continued.
"He gets very calm."
Her voice dropped.
"Then he starts telling everyone exactly what to say."
A chill moved across my arms.
"What did he tell you to say about me?"
She hesitated.
"That you knew about Matty."
I gripped the phone.
"What?"
"He said if this became public, we had to say you knew for years and accepted it."
"Why?"
"Because he said investors would forgive an unconventional marriage faster than they would forgive deception."
I looked at the forged guarantee on the table.
The affair, the child, the apartment, the lake house, and now a rehearsed story designed for investors.
Alistair had not been improvising.
He had been planning contingencies.
"Paige, did he ever ask you to sign anything about me?"
Silence.
Then came the answer I had not prepared for.
"Yes."
"What?"
"A statement."
"Saying what?"
"That you knew about us."
"Did you sign it?"
Paige began to sob.
May you like
"Yes."
