Chapter 4: The Message I Wasn't Supposed to See
I didn't reply right away.
I set the phone face-down on the counter and poured my tea and stood at the kitchen window watching the street.
Frank's car was still there.
Diane's silver sedan had gone.
I didn't know what that meant.
I wasn't sure I wanted to.
After ten minutes, I picked the phone back up.
*Who is this?* I typed.
The reply came in under a minute.
*My name is Patrice.
I worked with Frank for six years.
I left the company eight months ago.
I've been trying to decide whether to contact you for a long time.*
I sat down at the kitchen table.
*What did he do?* I typed.
Three dots appeared.
Disappeared.
Appeared again.
*He didn't just leave you for Diane.
He set it up so you'd have nothing when he left.
The account you found — that wasn't an accident.
He moved money into it specifically because it was in both names and he thought you'd never look.
He planned to drain it after the divorce was finalized.*
My tea sat untouched.
*He also told people at his office that you had a drinking problem.
That you'd become unstable.
He wanted it on record somewhere in case you contested anything in the settlement.*
I read the message twice.
Then a third time.
There was a knock at my front door.
I knew before I opened it.
Frank was standing on the porch again.
The red had gone out of his face.
He looked tired now.
Older than he had an hour ago.
"Can I come in?" he said.
"No."
He nodded slowly, like he'd expected that.
"I just want to say something."
"Then say it from there."
He looked down at his shoes.
"I know what you must think of me."
"Do you?"
"I made mistakes, Carol.
I know that."
"Mistakes," I said.
"I panicked.
After I left, I panicked about money and I — I made some decisions I'm not proud of."
"You told your colleagues I had a drinking problem."
His head came up.
"You tried to make sure I'd have nothing," I said.
"You planned it.
That's not a mistake, Frank.
That's a campaign."
"Where did you—" He stopped.
His jaw tightened.
"Patrice."
I didn't confirm it.
"She doesn't know the full picture," he said.
"She only knows what she heard secondhand."
"Then tell me the full picture."
He was quiet for a moment.
When he spoke again, his voice had changed — lower, more careful.
"The account was always meant to be a safety net.
For both of us.
I just — I lost track of it."
"You lost track of forty-one thousand dollars."
"Carol—"
"And the things you said about me at your office?"
He looked away.
Down the street.
At nothing in particular.
"I was protecting myself," he said finally.
"In case things got ugly."
"In case I fought back, you mean."
He didn't answer.
I looked at him standing there on my porch — the man I had loved since I was seventeen years old, the man I had built a life around, the man who had looked at me across our dinner table and decided I wasn't worth keeping.
"You should know," I said, "that I've already spoken to my lawyer.
Twice.
And that Patrice has agreed to provide a written statement."
His face went very still.
"I'm not going to come after you, Frank.
I'm not interested in destroying you.
But I am going to make sure the settlement reflects what actually happened.
All of it."
He opened his mouth.
"Go home," I said.
I closed the door before he could find the words.
I leaned against it for a moment in the hallway.
My hands were steady.
I noticed that specifically — how steady my hands were.
My phone buzzed again.
Patrice.
*There's one more thing.
May you like
I didn't want to put it in a text.
Can we meet?*
