Chapter 3: The Name That Didn't Belong
I printed every page Robert had sent me.
Fourteen pages.
I laid them across my kitchen counter in order, oldest transfer first.
The name that kept appearing was Victor Salles.
I had never heard Daniel mention him.
Not once in four years of marriage.
I called Robert back.
"Who is Victor Salles?" I asked.
"That's what I've been trying to figure out since last night," he said.
"He's listed as a contractor.
Renovation services.
But Mariana — there are no invoices.
No work orders.
No permits filed on Theresa's property.
I checked."
"How much?"
"Across eighteen months — just over sixty-two thousand dollars."
I set the phone on the counter for a moment.
Sixty-two thousand dollars.
Paid from accounts that Daniel had access to jointly — accounts I had funded entirely.
"Robert," I said.
"Is Daniel's name on any of these transfers?"
A pause.
"The authorization signature on eleven of them matches his."
I picked the phone back up.
"Send me a clean summary.
I want it formatted clearly."
"Already drafting it.
Mariana — do you want me to contact anyone else?"
"Not yet."
I hung up and stood very still.
Through the window the morning was grey and ordinary.
A neighbor walked a dog past the gate.
A delivery truck idled at the corner.
Sixty-two thousand dollars.
Eighteen months.
A name I had never heard.
Daniel called again at 9:40.
I let it ring.
He called a third time at 9:52.
Then a text: *We need to talk.
This is serious.*
I typed back: *Yes.
It is.*
At eleven o'clock I drove to Robert's office and sat across from him at his desk.
He slid the printed summary toward me without speaking.
I read it twice.
"What kind of contractor takes sixty-two thousand in cash transfers with no documentation?" I said.
"The kind that isn't a contractor," Robert said.
"Do you think Daniel knows where the money actually went?"
Robert looked at me carefully.
"I think Daniel is the reason it went there."
I folded the summary and placed it in my bag.
"I need a forensic accountant.
Someone independent.
Can you recommend one?"
"I already called her this morning," he said.
"Her name is Grace Tan.
She's expecting your call."
I nodded.
I stood up.
At the door I stopped.
"Robert — how long do you think this has been going on?"
He didn't answer immediately.
He looked at the papers on his desk instead.
When he looked up, his expression told me everything before his words did.
"The earliest transfer I found," he said quietly, "is dated eleven days after your wedding."
I walked out into the grey morning and sat in my car for a long time without starting the engine.
Eleven days after my wedding.
My phone lit up on the passenger seat.
Not Daniel this time.
May you like
Not Theresa.
It was Aaron.
