Chapter 9: The Explanation He Thought Would Work
He rang the doorbell.
His own house, and he rang the doorbell.
I opened the door and looked at him.
He was wearing the grey jacket I'd bought him two Christmases ago.
He looked tired.
He had clearly decided that looking tired was the right choice.
"Can I come in?" he said.
I stepped back from the door.
He came into the hallway and stopped.
He looked around the house the way people look at things they're afraid they've already lost.
"Kitchen," I said.
We sat at the same table where I'd read his note the day before.
I didn't offer him coffee.
"I know what you found," he said.
"I know what it looks like."
"Tell me what it is."
He folded his hands on the table.
"Rachel and I have been—" He stopped.
He started again.
"It began as a professional relationship.
She was advising me on some restructuring.
About eight years ago it became something else.
I know that's not what you want to hear."
"How long?" I said.
"Eight years."
Eight years.
Marcus's wedding had been six years ago.
Peter had given a speech about loyalty.
"The apartment," I said.
He nodded.
"Yes."
"Purchased with money from the Harwell account."
"Some of it, yes."
"Money that came from my accounts."
He was quiet.
"Peter.
Say it."
"Some of the capital in Harwell came from joint assets, yes.
And from—" He paused.
"From your inheritance.
I intended to replace it.
I always intended to replace it."
"You've had four years."
"There were complications with the structure—"
"Stop saying that." My voice came out flat.
"Stop saying *complications with the structure.* You took my mother's money.
You used it to buy a home for another woman.
And then you brought that woman to our anniversary dinner and told me I needed to learn a lesson."
He looked at the table.
"Why?" I said.
"Why the dinner?
Why Mia?"
He was quiet for a long moment.
"I was angry," he said finally.
"About Daniel.
About the transfer.
I felt—" He stopped.
"You felt what?"
"I felt like you were slipping out of my control," he said.
"And I reacted badly."
The word *control* sat between us on the table like something he hadn't meant to put there.
"I see," I said.
"Carol—"
"I spoke to my lawyer yesterday and this morning," I said.
"She's filing for divorce.
The forensic accountant has already documented the transfers.
The preservation order is in place.
You won't be able to move anything else."
His jaw tightened.
"You didn't have to go that far.
We could have talked."
"We are talking.
This is the talking."
"I mean privately.
Without lawyers.
I can explain everything, I can make arrangements to return—"
"Peter." I looked at him.
"You called Rachel before you left the house yesterday morning.
Then you went to the bank and emptied our joint savings account.
That is not the behavior of a man who wants to talk."
His face went through several things quickly.
"The money will be returned," he said.
"I panicked.
I made a bad decision."
"You've been making bad decisions for eleven years."
He leaned forward.
His voice dropped.
"If you push this through lawyers and courts, it will take years.
It will cost both of us.
It will affect Marcus and Daniel.
Think about what you're doing to this family."
"I didn't do this to this family," I said.
"Carol—"
"You have two sons who know everything.
I made sure of that." I stood up.
"If you want to discuss terms, call Susan Hale.
Her number is on the card I left on the counter."
He looked at the counter.
The card was there.
He looked back at me.
"This isn't who you are," he said.
"You're not this hard."
"I'm not hard," I said.
"I'm finished."
He sat at the table for a moment longer.
Then he stood.
He straightened his jacket.
He picked up the card from the counter and looked at it.
"I'll fight this," he said.
"I want you to know that.
I have resources you don't know about."
"Then use them," I said.
"Susan will be ready."
He walked to the hallway.
He stopped at the front door.
"I did love you," he said.
"In the beginning.
I want you to know that."
"Goodbye, Peter," I said.
He opened the door and walked out.
I heard his car start.
I heard it back out of the driveway.
I heard it drive away down the street.
I stood in the kitchen for a moment.
Then I walked to the counter, picked up my phone, and called Susan Hale.
"He came to the house," I said.
"He confirmed everything.
He threatened to fight it."
"Good," she said.
"Let him.
We have the documents, the forensic trail, and the preservation order.
He threatened to fight it with resources I don't know about — what do you think he meant?"
"I don't know," I said.
"I might," she said.
"I've been looking at the Harwell structure more closely this afternoon.
There's a third account we haven't discussed yet."
May you like
My hand tightened on the phone.
"Tell me," I said.
