Chapter 3: Everything She Said Next
She stared at the phone in my hand.
For a moment I thought she would leave.
Walk back out the door, get into her car, pretend none of this had happened.
Instead she set her teacup down on the edge of the desk.
Very carefully.
The way you set something down when you are deciding what to do next.
"You're making a mistake," she said.
"Tell me about the transfers," I said.
"All twelve months of them."
"That money was always going to come back to you.
It was a loan arrangement.
Perfectly legal."
"A loan." I kept the phone level.
"From my own joint account.
Without my signature."
"Your husband has signing authority."
"For household expenses.
Not for transfers to your personal account." I turned the envelope so she could see her own name printed on the statement.
"Forty-three thousand dollars, Margaret.
In twelve months."
Something moved behind her eyes.
Not fear.
Recalculation.
"Put the phone away," she said.
"I'm trying to help you."
"You came back here to destroy the evidence.
That's not help."
"I came back because you don't understand the full picture." She pulled out the chair across from the desk and sat down, as if we were about to have a reasonable conversation.
"My son has problems.
I've been managing those problems for years.
Some of that required money.
Your money, yes.
But the alternative was worse."
"What alternative?"
She folded her hands on the desk.
"He owes people.
Not banks.
Not credit cards.
People who don't send letters."
I kept my expression still.
"How much?"
"Enough that if they don't get paid, the problem doesn't stay financial." She looked at me steadily.
"I was protecting you.
Both of you."
"By forging my signature on a company invoice."
A pause.
"That was a separate matter."
"Was it your idea or his?"
She didn't answer.
"Margaret." I leaned forward slightly.
"Was the $1,500 invoice your idea or his?"
"It was a test," she said finally.
"To see if the account could be accessed without triggering a flag.
It wasn't meant to go through."
"But it did go through."
"Yes."
"And the divorce papers in the drawer.
Were those a test too?"
Her jaw tightened.
"Those were a contingency."
"A contingency for what?"
"For if you found out before we were ready."
The room was very quiet.
Outside, a car passed on the street below.
"Ready for what?" I said.
She looked at me for a long moment.
Then she reached into her jacket pocket and placed a second envelope on the desk.
Smaller than the first.
No name on the outside.
"Open it," she said.
"Then you'll understand why putting that phone down is the only sensible thing left to do."
My hand didn't move toward it.
"What's inside?" I said.
"A document," she said.
"With your name on it.
Filed eight weeks ago." She paused.
"You've already been named in a fraud investigation, sweetheart.
My son didn't do that.
May you like
I did.
And I'm the only one who can undo it."
