Chapter 3: The Number I Didn't Recognize
I stared at the message.
*There's more you don't know.*
David was still standing in the middle of the empty living room.
Brenda had her hand pressed flat against the wall like she needed it to hold her up.
I turned the phone screen toward them.
"Either of you want to explain this?"
David's eyes moved to the screen.
Something crossed his face — fast, gone before I could name it.
"That could be anyone," he said.
"Spam.
A wrong number."
"Spam doesn't know what's happening in my house."
Brenda straightened.
"Put the phone down.
This conversation is between family."
"Then start talking like family," I said.
"Because right now it feels like everyone in this room knows something I don't."
Neither of them answered.
I stepped into the hallway and typed back: *Who is this?*
The reply came in under a minute.
*Someone who worked for David for three years.
I need to show you something.
Can we meet?*
My hand was steady.
I don't know why.
Everything else felt like it was tilting sideways, but my hand didn't shake.
*Where?* I typed.
David appeared in the hallway behind me.
"Who are you texting?"
"My sister." I locked the screen and slid the phone into my pocket.
He looked at me for a long moment.
The David I married would have believed me without thinking.
This David — tanned, relaxed, smelling of someone else's vacation — studied my face like he was checking for cracks.
"We need to talk," he said.
"Properly.
Not like this."
"I agree," I said.
"But not tonight.
Tonight I need you to take the kids to your mother's."
"Excuse me?"
"They've been sick.
They need quiet.
And I need this house to myself for a few hours."
Brenda stepped out of the living room.
"You're throwing us out?
After a fourteen-hour flight?"
"I'm asking David to take the children somewhere calm.
You're welcome to go wherever you like."
"This is my son's house—"
"Brenda." I turned to face her fully.
"Your son took $9,500 from our children's savings account to pay for your vacation.
I have not raised my voice once.
I have not called anyone.
I have not done anything except move furniture that I paid for.
So please, do not talk to me about what you're owed tonight."
The hallway went very quiet.
Brenda's mouth opened.
Closed.
David put his hand on her arm.
"Mum.
Let's get the kids."
He said it softly.
Not to protect me.
To stop her from saying something that couldn't be unsaid.
That was when I knew.
He wasn't just guilty about the money.
He was managing her.
The way you manage someone who knows too much.
I watched them walk toward the stairs and I kept my face completely still.
Twenty minutes later, the front door closed.
I heard David's car back out of the driveway.
I sat down on the floor of the empty living room — no couch, no rug, just bare boards — and I opened the message thread again.
*Can you meet tomorrow morning?* I typed.
*Coffee.
Public place.
You choose.*
The reply came before I'd even set the phone down.
*There's a café on Birchwood Lane.
9am.
Come alone.
And don't tell David.*
I read it twice.
May you like
Then I noticed the name the number had saved itself under in my contacts suggestion.
It said: *Rachel — David's office.*
