Chapter 8
I quickly replied: [Sure. See you at seven.]
And after I hit send, I tacked on another message: [By the way, I've already hired a lawyer about the money you owe me. You better be prepared.]
He didn't reply.
At four in the afternoon, I headed to the bank counter.
I got a printout of all the transactions from our joint savings account for the past three years.
It was a thick stack. Every page had the bank's official stamp on it.
When I flipped to the last page, I saw the final balance: 1090.52 dollars.
I folded the papers and slipped them into my briefcase.
After leaving the bank, I headed to the hospital.
I wasn't there to see Julia. Instead, I went straight to the medical records department.
I requested a copy of the patient's complete medical records.
The receptionist asked, "What's your relationship to the patient?"
"Her husband," I replied.
"Alright, do you have your ID and marriage certificate?"
I had both.
I'd made sure to dig them out from home before I left.
The medical records were printed out.
The admission record stated in black and white: [Patient: Julia Stone, female, 29 years old, married. Last menstrual period Approximately 7 weeks of amenorrhea Abnormally elevated HCG levels Ruptured right tubal pregnancy...]
She hadn't had her period for seven weeks.
When was seven weeks ago?
I did the math. Seven weeks ago was the beginning of October.
That was during the National Day holiday.
She said she went back to her parents' place for three days.
During those three days, I was home alone, working overtime.
I slipped the copy of the medical records into my briefcase. Right next to the bank statements.
As I walked out of the hospital, the cold air stung my face.
The air was so cold it felt like it was slicing my skin.
Winter was just around the corner.
I pulled my three-year-old down jacket tighter around me.
My phone buzzed. Linda sent me a voice message on WhatsApp.
It was a full minute long.
I didn't bother listening.
Linda sent another one.
Sixty seconds again.
And then yet another message.
Another sixty seconds.
I set Linda to "Do Not Disturb".
I drove to Southside Café.
I got there early.
I picked a seat by the window and ordered an Americano. Then I waited.
At 6:58, someone walked in.
He was about 5'9", wearing a dark blue cashmere coat, his hair slicked back with gel, and a Rolex Submariner on his wrist.
He looked pretty put-together.
As soon as he walked in, he scanned the room. When he spotted me, he hesitated for a second before heading over.
"Mr. Chapman?" Michael asked.
"Take a seat," I told him.
Michael pulled out the chair and sat down.
He slipped off his scarf and hung it on the back of the chair.
He asked for a latte.
Before saying a word, he gave me a quick, polite smile. It was the sort of smile that said "sorry," but kept things formal.
Classic business guy had a mask always in place.
"Mr. Chapman, about this matter..." Michael started.
"579,500 dollars," I gave him the number straight up directly.
His smile froze.
"That's how much you took from Julia in the last two years. I've already got a lawyer on this. You'll have to pay back every cent," I said.
Michael rested his hand on the table. He idly traced the rim of his cup with his fingertips.
Outwardly, he remained composed.
"Mr. Chapman, let me explain..." he started.
"I don't need an explanation," I cut him off.
I pulled the bank statements out of my briefcase.
And set them down on the table. It was a fat stack.