Chapter 4
On the third day, David finally started to panic.
It all began when he noticed I'd checked the secondary card, banks send notifications whenever someone accesses the account.
He called, and I picked up.
"Why were you checking my bank card?" he demanded.
His tone was accusatory.
I replied, "I wanted to see what you've been spending money on every month."
"What's that supposed to mean? Are you spying on me?" he shot back.
I stayed silent.
He continued, "Come on, Emily, that's enough. It was a social media post. Is it really worth all this? Moving out and checking my accounts, aren't you worn out?"
"You've been sending Jessica 1,700 dollars every month since last October. That's 16,700 dollars in total. Isn't that exhausting for you?" I shot back.
He went quiet.
There was silence for about six seconds.
Then he said, "That was the company's marketing budget. I paid out of my own account first..."
"Oh, so booking a hotel room on November 3rd was for marketing too? And sending her 670 dollars on Women's Day was a business expense?
"What about buying her 2,900 dollars' worth of jewelry on October 17th? Was that a company advance too?" I shot back.
His breathing grew heavier.
"You really went through everything, didn't you?" he said.
"You were pretty thorough yourself, weren't you?" I shot back.
His voice dropped, sounding hurt. "Emily, can you hear me out? It's really not what you think. Please, let me explain to you in person."
"No need," I replied.
I hung up.
He called again.
I declined the call.
My phone kept buzzing for three minutes before finally stopping.
Then a message popped up on WhatsApp.
David: [Just tell me what you want, I'll do it. Whatever you say, I'll agree.]
David: [Alright, alright, I admit it, I did get a bit too close to her, but nothing actually happened between us. I'm not the father of that kid.]
David: [Come back, please? Let's get back to normal, okay?]
I took screenshots of the chat and sent them to Ms. Cole.
Ms. Cole replied with four words: [Keep drawing him out.]
At two in the afternoon, Jessica posted another update on her social media.
This time, it was a photo of a baby's tiny foot, with a man's hand holding it.
On that hand was a watch.
A Longines watch.
That Longines watch was the birthday gift I bought him. I spent 4,000 dollars on it.
He was wearing the watch I gave him, holding someone else's kid.
I zoomed in on the photo and took a screenshot.
The mole on the back of his hand was right where it always is.
I sent the screenshot to Ms. Cole: [Does this count as direct evidence?]
Ms. Cole: [Can you confirm it's really him?]
Me: [Yeah, the mole on his hand lines up perfectly. And that watch? It's the one I bought for him, I still have the receipt.]
Ms. Cole: [Good. Keep it. Keep collecting.]
I put my phone down and went to change my daughter's diaper.
Halfway through, she started crying, and it took me five minutes to calm her down.
My mom came out of the kitchen and glanced over. "What did he say?"
"He said it's not his kid," I replied.
My mom let out a cold laugh. "Oh, really? Then whose is it? Immaculate conception?"
That night, I logged into David's email.
He'd never changed the password.
In the sent folder, I found an email to the insurance company, he'd bought a personal insurance policy three months ago.
The beneficiary was listed as Jessica.
The policy was for 167,000 dollars.
I took a screenshot and saved it.
He made her the beneficiary.
Not me. Not his daughter.