PART 4

The attorney’s name was Rachel Morgan.

I met her the following morning.

Nora watched the children while I carried a folder containing everything I had been able to find.

Bank statements.

Mortgage documents.

Tax records.

The refinancing agreement.

Screenshots of Grant’s messages with Celeste.

And the document that had my father’s name on it.

Rachel didn’t speak much while she read.

She simply turned page after page.

Every few minutes, she made a note.

Finally, she placed the papers on the desk and looked at me.

“Emily, when did you purchase the house?”

“Eight years ago.”

“Who was the original mortgage lender?”

“I don’t remember the company name. It was a normal bank.”

“And this agreement?”

“I thought it was related to refinancing.”

“Did you receive money from the refinancing?”

“No.”

“Did Grant?”

“I don’t know.”

Rachel nodded slowly.

“That is important.”

“Why?”

“Because this document appears to connect your property to a private loan. But the loan proceeds don’t appear to have gone toward the mortgage.”

My stomach tightened.

“Where did they go?”

“That is what we need to find out.”

She turned the document around and pointed to a paragraph.

“Your husband borrowed against the equity in the property.”

“How much?”

She told me.

I already knew the number.

But hearing it from someone else made it feel more real. “And your father signed as a trustee on the arrangement.”

I stared at the page.

“Why?”

“I don’t know yet.”

“Could he do that without me knowing?”

“Not legally, if your ownership rights were properly documented.”

“Then why is his name here?”

Rachel looked at me.

“That is exactly what we need to investigate.”

I sat back.

For the first time since leaving home, I felt something other than fear.

I felt anger.

Not the wild anger I had felt when I discovered Grant’s affair.

This was colder.

More focused.

I had spent years believing my father was the strongest person in my life.

Now I wondered if he had simply been the person I had trusted most without questioning.

Rachel asked me to authorize her to obtain the financial records.

I signed.

Then she said something I wasn’t prepared to hear.

“Do not confront your husband yet.”

“Why?”

“Because if he knows you are investigating the financial side, he may move money or destroy evidence.”

I nodded.

“And your father?”

“Don’t tell him either.”

That was harder.

I wanted to call Dad immediately.

I wanted to demand answers.

Instead, I left the office without saying anything.

For three days, I said nothing.

I went to work.

I took the children to school.

I helped Holly with homework.

I packed lunches.

I smiled when I needed to smile.

At night, after the children went to sleep, I sat with Rachel’s questions and tried to reconstruct the last three years of my life.

There had been small things.

Things I had ignored.

Grant suddenly becoming secretive about our finances.

Dad occasionally asking how much equity we had in the house.

My brother once asking whether Grant had “business opportunities.” Grant telling me that certain documents were “just routine paperwork.”

I had trusted them.

That had been my mistake.

Then, on Thursday afternoon, Rachel called.

“Emily, I found something.”

I pulled over in a parking lot.

“What?”

“The private company that issued the loan.”

“Yes?”

“It isn’t actually independent.”

My heart started beating faster.

“What does that mean?”

“The company is connected to a larger holding group.”

“Who owns it?”

Rachel hesitated. “Your father.”

I closed my eyes.

For a moment, I heard nothing but the sound of cars passing outside my window. “No.”

“I verified it.”

“Maybe there’s another person with the same name.”

“I checked.”

I gripped the steering wheel.

“My father lent money to my husband?”

“More than that.”

“What?”

“Your father appears to have used the company to loan Grant money against your house.”

“Why?”

“That is what we’re still trying to determine.”

I stared through the windshield.

Then another thought hit me.

“Celeste.”

“What about her?”

“What if she’s connected to the company?”

Rachel was quiet.

“I wondered the same thing.”

That evening, Rachel sent me a photograph.

It was a corporate registration document.

There was a woman’s name listed as an executive.

Celeste Laurent.

I stared at the screen.

The woman Grant had been sleeping with wasn’t just his affair partner.

She worked for my father’s company.

I felt sick.

I called Grant.

He answered after four rings.

“Emily?”

“Where are you?”

“At work.”

“No, you’re not.”

Silence.

“Who is Celeste Laurent?”

Another silence.

I closed my eyes.

“Grant?”

“How do you know that name?”

“Answer me.”

He exhaled.

“Emily, this isn’t what you think.”

“Then tell me what it is.”

“I can’t.”

“You borrowed money against our house.”

“I was going to tell you.”

“You lied.”

“I was trying to fix things.”

“By giving my father control over our property?”

“He was helping me.”

“Why?” Grant didn’t answer.

I felt tears burning my eyes.

“Did Dad know about the affair?”

“No.”

“Did Celeste?”

“No.”

“Then why was she involved?”

He finally said:

“Because she helped arrange the loan.” I felt something inside me collapse. “How long?”

“About eighteen months.”

The room around me seemed to disappear.

Eighteen months.

The affair had lasted eleven months.

The financial arrangement had begun even earlier.

“You knew my father was involved.”

“Yes.”

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