Chapter 8: Aaron's Second Call
My attorney's name was Patricia Howe.
She had handled my property contracts for six years and had a way of speaking that made everything feel manageable without pretending it was simple.
I sat across from her the following morning with Grace's folder between us.
"The forensic report is thorough," Patricia said.
"Combined with the financial crimes investigation already in progress, Daniel's position is very weak.
If he contests the divorce or attempts to claim marital assets, this documentation makes that extremely difficult."
"What about Lauren?"
Patricia looked at the relevant pages.
"The transfers to her account are harder.
She can argue she didn't know the source of the funds.
But the legal retainer she paid fourteen months ago — that's going to be a problem for that argument.
It suggests foreknowledge of a marital breakdown she was preparing for."
"Can she be held liable?"
"Potentially.
That's a separate action and a longer road.
But yes — potentially." Patricia set the folder down.
"My recommendation is this: serve Daniel with divorce papers today.
Include a formal demand for full financial disclosure.
Give him seventy-two hours to respond before we file the forensic report with the court."
"Do it," I said.
I was back at my condo by noon.
I made lunch.
I ate it at my own table, in my own kitchen, in the quiet of a space that had always been mine.
My phone rang at two-fifteen.
Aaron again.
I answered.
"Lauren knows you met with Grace Tan," he said.
His voice was tight.
"She's not — she's not handling it well."
"Aaron," I said.
"I know about the account in Lauren's maiden name."
Silence.
"I know about the legal retainer she paid fourteen months ago," I continued.
"I know about the IP address.
I know she was involved before she claims she found out."
More silence.
Then: "Mariana.
She panicked.
When she found out about the gambling debt, she panicked.
She was trying to protect herself."
"With my money."
"She didn't think of it that way."
"How did she think of it?"
He didn't answer.
"Aaron.
I have one question and I need an honest answer.
Did you know what Lauren was doing with those transfers?"
A long pause.
Long enough to be its own answer.
"I found out four months ago," he said.
"I told her to stop.
She stopped."
"But you didn't tell me."
"No."
"Why?"
"Because she's my wife," he said.
"And I was afraid."
I sat with that for a moment.
A man who had laughed at the dinner table.
Who had called me the next morning with what felt like conscience.
Who had given me just enough truth to feel like an ally while holding back the part that implicated his own household.
"Your daughter is four years old," I said.
"You mentioned her when you called me the first time."
"Yes."
"I'm not going to pursue Lauren criminally if she returns what she took and cooperates with the disclosure process.
That is the only offer I will make.
It expires when Patricia files with the court tomorrow morning."
"Mariana—"
"Talk to Lauren tonight," I said.
"Have her call Patricia before nine AM."
I hung up.
At six that evening, Daniel was served with the divorce papers at Theresa's address.
Patricia's assistant confirmed it with a text.
I read the text.
Set my phone face-down on the counter.
Started cooking dinner.
The knock on my door came at eight-fifteen.
Not Daniel.
Not Aaron.
Theresa.
She was standing in the cold without a coat, her handbag clutched in both hands.
She looked smaller than she had at the restaurant.
Smaller than she had at the dinner table.
May you like
"May I come in?" she said.
I stepped back from the door.
