Chapter 2
The next morning, I didn't bother going to the office.
I sat at the hotel desk and fired up my laptop.
I started with the bank.
We had a joint savings account.
We opened it when we got married and called it our "family fund."
I put in three thousand dollars every month.
David put in one thousand dollars.
After three years, there should have been close to 130 thousand dollars in that account.
I logged into the app.
[Balance: 4,100 dollars.]
I stared at the screen.
Where had the 130 thousand dollars gone?
I opened the transaction history.
I scrolled through every entry, one after another.
Every month, like clockwork, there was a transfer of 1,700 dollars.
[Recipient: Emily Lane.]
[Note: Living allowance.]
It had started two years ago.
Not a single month had been skipped.
It worked out to 1,700 dollars a month across 24 months.
That came to forty thousand dollars.
I kept scrolling.
Three months ago, there was a huge transfer.
The amount was 130 thousand dollars.
The recipient was also Emily Lane.
It noted the shop investment.
I read that number twice.
Three years of savings had left the account in a single transfer.
It had all gone into a shop with her name on it.
I closed my eyes.
Then I opened them.
And I kept digging.
I pulled up David's credit card statements. Back when we got married, he had given me access himself and told me there should be no secrets between us.
It was almost funny now.
The charges told the whole story.
Dinner for two on a weekend, 130 dollars.
A hotel room, 190 dollars.
Flowers, sixty-five dollars.
Jewelry, 1,300 dollars.
It happened every month without fail.
It was as regular as a paycheck.
Next, I checked his food delivery app.
We had a shared family account.
I pulled up six months of delivery orders sent to our address.
One order was for two milkshakes.
Another was a fried chicken combo for two.
A third was a barbecue platter, also for two.
Every order was in the afternoon or evening.
All of them happened when I was out on business trips.
I took screenshots of everything and saved them in an encrypted folder.
Then I opened Amazon.
I checked David's shipping addresses.
Aside from our home, there was another address.
It was Maple Grove Apartments, Unit 502.
The recipient was Emily.
The phone number on file ended in 7239.
The most recent orders were a set of linen tablecloths, two wine glasses, and a kitchen shelf.
She was setting up another "home."
Then I corrected myself.
She was already living in mine.
That address had to be a place she rented on her own.
Or it was something else entirely.
I stopped short.
I opened Yelp.
I searched for businesses near Maple Grove Apartments.
The first result was Emmy's Flower Studio.
The address was 102 Maple Grove Plaza.
It sat on the ground floor of her own building.
Shop investment, he had written.
That was where the 130 thousand dollars had gone.
I stared at the page and let out a short, bitter laugh.
I was on the road for more than 15 days every month.
Every business trip meant catching flights at dawn or taking late-night trains.
The allowance for those trips was worth the lost sleep.
Every dollar of it went into savings.
And every saved dollar went into that "family fund."
And then, every month, he transferred it straight to another woman.
In the end, he blew all our savings to set her up with a flower shop.
My money had kept his mistress and launched her business.
I took a deep breath.
I scrolled through my contacts until I found her name.
It was Rachel Carter.
She had been my college roommate, and she was a family law attorney now.
She picked up after two rings.
"Claire? Aren't you supposed to be on a business trip?" Rachel asked.
"Rachel, I need your help," I said.
I paused for a moment.
"My husband's been cheating on me."
The line went quiet for three full seconds.
"Do you have proof?" Rachel asked.
"Yes. Plenty," I replied.
"Where are you? I'm coming over," Rachel said.
By the time Rachel showed up, I had sorted everything into one folder, the photos, the screenshots, and the bank records.
There were 47 photos.
Two years of bank statements sat under them.
His credit card bills came next.
After those came the food delivery records.
I had printed out the Amazon shipping addresses.
And I had a screenshot of the flower shop's Yelp page.
Rachel went through everything, one by one.
Her face went from calm to dead serious.
"Two years?" Rachel asked.
"Two years," I replied.
"How much did he transfer from the joint account?" Rachel asked.
"With the 1,700 a month, it comes to 170 thousand dollars."
Rachel set her phone down.
"Claire, whose name is on the deed?" Rachel asked.
"It's just my name," I replied.
"Who paid the down payment?" Rachel asked.
"I did. Two hundred thirty thousand dollars. One hundred sixty thousand came from five years of savings, and my parents gave me the other seventy thousand."
"What about the mortgage?" Rachel asked.
"The mortgage is 3,300 a month. I cover 2,300, he pays 900. It's all in the bank records."
Rachel nodded.
"Let me break it down for you," Rachel said.
She looked me right in the eye.
"First, this house is yours. You bought it before the marriage, and your parents helped with the money. If the deed only has your name on it, he can't claim a dime.
"Second, the money he sent her out of that joint account is marital property, and you can get every dollar of it back.
"Third, you've got hard evidence he's cheating. When you file for divorce, you can go after him for emotional damages."
She paused.
"And fourth."
She looked at me again.
"You can change the locks."
"What?" I asked.
"It's your house. The deed's in your name. You get to decide who lives there."
She scrolled through her phone.
"Go to building management and ask them to swap out the smart lock. Bring the deed and your ID, and they can do it the same day."
I looked at her.
"Change the locks," I repeated.
"Exactly. Change the locks, and put her things out on the landing."
She gave me a small smile.
"This is your house, Claire. Every brick of it, right down to the last inch," she said.