Chapter 4: What He Said at the Door
"I know about the account, Sandra."
He said it quietly.
Just loud enough for the two of us to hear.
Then he pushed through the door and was gone.
The restaurant noise filled back in around us.
Sandra sat with her hands flat on the table, not moving.
"What account?" I asked.
She didn't answer right away.
She watched the door for a moment, then looked down at her hands.
When she looked up, something had changed in her face.
The calm was still there, but there was something underneath it now.
"He's been trying to get into my finances for two years," she said.
"Since the divorce.
There's a joint account we never fully closed.
I've been meaning to deal with it.
I kept putting it off." She paused.
"He's been watching it."
"How much is in it?"
"Enough." She picked up her water glass.
Set it down without drinking.
"Enough that it matters."
I looked at her.
"Do you need to go deal with that tonight?"
"I already called my bank on the way over here," she said.
"When I saw his car and realized what he was doing, I called them first.
They're flagging the account.
But if he's already — " She stopped.
Took a breath.
"I don't know what he's already done."
The waitress returned the card and receipt.
Sandra signed it quickly.
"You didn't have to pay for my dinner," I said.
"I know." She tucked the card back into her wallet.
"I wanted to.
I've been wanting to warn someone in time for two years.
Tonight was the first time I actually managed it." She looked at me with something that was almost relief.
"Did it help?"
"More than you know."
We sat for another minute.
Around us, couples finished their meals, waiters moved between tables, the bar filled up with Friday-night noise.
Everything ordinary.
"Can I ask you something?" I said.
"Yes."
"The list.
Seven names.
Have any of them done anything?
Reported him, or — "
"Two tried." Sandra folded her napkin and set it beside her plate.
"One went to the police.
They told her it wasn't technically fraud because she'd paid voluntarily.
No false invoices, no forged documents.
Just a man who lied on a date." She said it flatly, but I could hear what was underneath.
"The other one consulted a lawyer.
Same answer."
"So he just keeps going."
"He just keeps going."
I thought about Joanna.
Sixty-one years old.
A retired schoolteacher.
A weekend trip to the coast.
"What does he actually need the money for?" I asked.
"If he's been unemployed for eight months, what's he spending it on?"
Sandra was quiet for a moment.
"That's the part I never fully understood during the marriage either.
It's not one thing.
It's everything.
The image.
The car, the restaurant, the clothes.
He can't let the image slip, even for a second.
Even when he's completely broke.
Especially then." She looked toward the door again.
"He's not spending it on anything real.
He's spending it on looking like someone who doesn't need to spend it."
I thought about the two hours at the table.
The promotion.
The portfolio.
The vintage lecture.
"He almost had me," I said.
"He almost has everyone," Sandra said.
"He's very good at the beginning."
She gathered her bag and stood.
I stood with her.
At the door, she paused and turned back.
"He meant what he said," she told me.
"About the account.
He doesn't make empty threats.
If he said he knows about it, he's already tried something." Her phone was in her hand.
"I need to go home and check."
"Go," I said.
"And thank you.
Genuinely."
She nodded once and walked out.
I stood at the entrance for a moment.
The maître d' gave me a polite, carefully neutral look.
I smiled at him, picked up my coat, and stepped outside into the night air.
Marcus's car was gone from the curb.
But parked just behind where it had been was a dark sedan I didn't recognize.
And as I walked past it toward the street, my phone buzzed in my pocket.
An unknown number.
A text message.
Four words.
May you like
*We should talk.
Tonight.*
