Chapter 3: The Accountant's Question
By Thursday morning, I had changed every banking password I could remember.
I had also frozen the joint credit card, notified my bank about the unauthorized transfer, and moved my remaining personal savings into a new account.
Rachel advised me not to make any major financial decisions without documenting them.
"Daniel may attempt to move more money," she warned.
"We need to preserve everything.""
I was beginning to understand that the soup incident hadn't been the beginning of my marriage falling apart.
It had simply been the first time I refused to pretend everything was normal.
At 10:30 a.m., I returned to Michael Reeves's office.
He had requested additional documents, including our mortgage statements, tax returns, and the records of several property purchases Daniel had mentioned over the years.
I placed a thick folder on his desk.
"Everything I could find.""
Michael opened it.
For nearly twenty minutes, he examined the paperwork without speaking.
Then he removed his glasses.
"Sarah, do you remember your husband telling you he wanted to purchase a vacation property?""
I nodded.
"About two years ago. He said we could buy a small place near the lake.""
"Did you sign anything?""
"No. He told me the financing hadn't been approved.""
Michael turned his monitor toward me.
"According to these records, Westbrook Family Holdings purchased a lakefront property twenty-two months ago.""
My throat tightened.
"With our money?""
"At least part of the purchase was funded through transfers originating from your joint account.""
I stared at the photograph attached to the property record.
It was a beautiful house.
White exterior. Large windows. A wooden deck overlooking the water.
Daniel had shown me photographs of that exact property once.
He had told me it belonged to a business associate.
I remembered smiling and saying how beautiful it was.
He had kissed my forehead.
"Maybe someday, sweetheart.""
I pressed my fingers against my lips.
"Was it purchased for us?""
Michael hesitated.
"I can't establish that from these documents.""
"Then who owns it?""
He opened another file.
"Westbrook Family Holdings is registered to a person named Patricia Elaine Mitchell.""
I stopped breathing.
Patricia.
My mother-in-law.
The woman who had thrown soup at me.
The woman who had demanded that I pay her birthday bill.
The woman whose son had watched her humiliate me.
"She owns the company?""
"According to the registration documents, yes.""
I stared at the screen.
"Why would Daniel send her $148,000?""
Michael didn't answer immediately.
Instead, he pulled out a second folder.
"I traced several transfers to the business account. From there, the funds were distributed among multiple destinations.""
"Where?""
"Property expenses. A vehicle loan. Insurance payments. And several transfers to another personal account.""
"Whose?""
He turned a page.
"Your husband's.""
I felt the room tilt.
"Daniel was sending money to his mother, and his mother was sending some of it back to him?""
"That's what the records suggest.""
I covered my mouth.
For years, Daniel had complained about being financially responsible for his parents.
He told me his mother struggled with expenses.
He said his father had medical bills.
He insisted that the family needed our help.
And I had believed him.
Michael continued.
"There's also a pattern involving your salary deposits.""
"What pattern?""
"Your salary arrived in the joint account on the last business day of each month. Within forty-eight hours, a substantial portion was transferred to the business account.""
I looked down.
"How much?""
"Usually between six and twelve thousand dollars.""
I felt tears gathering.
"That's money I worked for.""
"Yes.""
"And he was giving it to Patricia?""
"Some of it appears to have gone there.""
I stood up and walked toward the window.
Outside, traffic moved along the street as if the world were perfectly ordinary.
I thought about all the things I had postponed.
The vacation we never took.
The kitchen renovation I abandoned.
The car I continued driving because Daniel said we needed to save.
Every time I asked about our savings, he told me we were building something bigger.
Apparently, they had been building something.
Just not with me.
My phone rang.
Daniel.
I let it ring twice before answering.
"Hello?""
"Sarah, where are you?""
"Working.""
"Mom is upset.""
I closed my eyes.
"Daniel, your mother threw soup on me.""
"She's apologized.""
"When?""
"She told me to tell you she was sorry.""
"That's not an apology.""
He sighed.
"Can we stop talking about the soup? We have bigger problems.""
I glanced at Michael.
"What bigger problems?""
"The money. The bank is asking questions about the accounts. Why did you freeze everything?""
"Because I found unauthorized transfers.""
There was silence.
Then Daniel lowered his voice.
"You had no right to interfere with those accounts.""
I almost laughed.
"Those are my accounts too.""
"Sarah, you don't understand how complicated the family finances are.""
"Then explain them.""
"I can't do this over the phone.""
"Fine. Explain them in front of Rachel and the accountant.""
His breathing changed.
"You're involving lawyers now?""
"Yes.""
"You're destroying this family.""
I looked at the red marks still fading along my arm.
"No, Daniel. I'm finally looking at what you and your mother have been doing to it.""
He hung up.
Michael had heard everything.
He returned to his documents.
"There's something else I'd like to investigate.""
"What?""
"The business has been paying certain recurring expenses that don't appear connected to the lake property.""
"Such as?""
He pointed to a line on the spreadsheet.
"Apartment rental payments.""
I frowned.
"Whose apartment?""
"We don't know yet.""
He scrolled further.
"There's also a monthly payment to a private school.""
My heart began pounding.
"Daniel doesn't have children.""
Michael looked at me carefully.
"Are you absolutely certain?""
I stared at him.
"Yes.""
He nodded slowly.
"Then we need to establish who the beneficiary is.""
He picked up another document.
It was an authorization form attached to the business account.
At the bottom were two signatures.
Patricia Mitchell.
And Daniel Mitchell.
Both signatures were dated fourteen months earlier.
I recognized Daniel's handwriting immediately.
But there was something else.
A third name appeared in the section identifying the authorized beneficiaries.
*Emily Carter.*
I knew that name.
Emily was Daniel's younger sister.
She had been sitting only a few seats away when Patricia threw the soup at me.
She had looked horrified.
She had even rushed to help me.
But according to the financial records, Emily had been receiving monthly payments from the company funded by our joint account.
I slowly sat down.
"Why would Emily be getting money?""
Michael folded his hands.
"That's one of the questions I need to answer.""
"How much?""
He looked at the figures.
"Approximately $2,400 per month over the last fourteen months.""
I felt a cold sensation move through my chest.
"That's more than thirty thousand dollars.""
"Correct.""
I shook my head.
"No. There has to be a mistake.""
Michael didn't argue.
Instead, he opened another document.
It was a payment authorization dated the same week Daniel and I had celebrated our fifth wedding anniversary.
I remembered that week.
Daniel had taken me to dinner and given me a beautiful gold bracelet.
He had told me he was proud of how carefully we were managing our finances.
The authorization showed a transfer of $12,000 to Westbrook Family Holdings.
Beneath it was a handwritten note.
*Family reserve — Sarah must not be informed until everything is finalized.*
I read it once.
Then again.
My hands began shaking.
"Who wrote that?""
Michael examined the handwriting.
"I can't conclusively identify the author from this copy.""
I looked at the signature beneath the note.
Daniel Mitchell.
My husband.
I felt as if someone had reached inside my chest and removed something vital.
Michael gently closed the folder.
"Sarah, I need you to prepare yourself. The $148,000 may not represent the full amount involved.""
I looked at him.
"What do you mean?""
He took a deep breath.
"Some transfers appear to have originated outside the joint account. I suspect your husband may have used additional accounts to move money.""
"How much more?""
"I don't know yet.""
He paused.
"But there's a document I found this morning that concerns me more than the transfers.""
He placed a printed page in front of me.
It was a preliminary property agreement.
The lakefront house was listed as collateral.
So was another property.
My house.
The home Daniel and I had purchased together six years earlier.
I stared at the page.
At the bottom was a signature that looked remarkably like mine.
But I had never signed it.
"Michael...""
My voice barely worked.
"Is this supposed to be my signature?""
He looked at me gravely.
"That's exactly what I need a handwriting expert to determine.""
I turned the page over.
There was a date.
Three months earlier.
And beneath it, a handwritten instruction:
*Complete before Sarah discovers the account.*
I felt my blood turn cold.
Because suddenly, the question wasn't just where my husband had sent our $148,000.
May you like
It was what he had planned to do with the house we still lived in.
And why he had apparently needed my signature to do it.
