Chapter 4: Eight O'Clock on Mercer Street
Her hands were the first thing I noticed.
Abigail was already seated when I arrived, both hands wrapped around a coffee mug, and they were shaking slightly.
She was younger than I had expected — early thirties, dark circles under careful eyes, wearing a coat that had been good quality once and had been worn too many times since.
A toddler's plastic dinosaur sat on the table beside her mug.
She hadn't noticed it was there.
I sat down across from her.
Neither of us spoke for a moment.
"You look like someone who hasn't slept," she said finally.
"I haven't."
She nodded.
She understood that without needing it explained.
"I brought things," she said.
She reached into her bag and set a manila envelope on the table between us.
"Bank statements.
Text messages.
I printed everything.
Dates, amounts, what he told me the money was for, what it was actually for." She pushed the envelope toward me.
"I'm not doing this to hurt you.
I want you to know that."
"I know," I said.
"I was twenty-eight when I met him.
He told me he was separated.
That you two had an arrangement." She looked down at her coffee.
"I believed him for longer than I should have.
By the time I understood what was actually happening, Caleb was already here."
"When did you find out the truth?"
"About you?
About eighteen months ago.
I found a photo on his phone.
Your anniversary dinner.
He'd taken a picture of the two of you." She paused.
"He looked happy.
That was the worst part.
He looked genuinely happy."
I opened the envelope.
The first page was a list of transfers.
Dates going back four years.
Amounts ranging from eight hundred dollars to twelve thousand.
The source account on every single one was the joint business account — the account I had refinanced, the account my name was still attached to.
"He's been using the business account as a personal fund," I said.
"For the apartment.
For Caleb's things — though never enough.
For trips.
For her."
I looked up.
"There's someone else?"
Abigail's expression didn't change.
"There's always been someone else.
I was never the only one.
I just happened to be the one who had his child."
The waitress came.
I ordered coffee I didn't want.
When she left, I set the papers down carefully.
"My lawyer is expecting copies of all of this," I said.
"Is that all right?"
"That's why I printed them."
"And would you be willing to speak to her directly?
At some point?"
Abigail looked at the dinosaur on the table.
She picked it up and turned it over in her fingers.
"He told me if I made trouble, he would fight for full custody.
Use my financial situation against me." Her jaw tightened.
"I have almost nothing, Gwen.
He made sure of that.
Every time I got close to stable, something happened.
A bill I couldn't explain.
A landlord who suddenly needed the apartment back." She looked at me.
"I couldn't prove it was him.
But I know it was."
The coffee arrived.
I wrapped both hands around the mug.
"I have one hundred million dollars," I said quietly.
"And the best thing I can think to do with the first part of it is make sure he never threatens you with that boy again."
Abigail went very still.
"I'm not asking for your money—"
"I know you're not." I met her eyes.
"I'm offering you a lawyer.
A good one.
The same one I'm using.
Whatever it costs, it costs." I paused.
"Caleb didn't choose any of this either."
She looked at me for a long time.
Then her chin dropped slightly and she pressed her lips together hard, the way people do when they are determined not to cry in front of someone they've just met.
"Why would you do that?" she asked.
"After everything."
"Because you called me," I said.
"You didn't have to.
You could have stayed quiet and let him drain me.
Instead you warned me." I picked up my coffee.
"That matters."
My phone buzzed on the table.
We both looked at it.
Douglas: Getting discharged at 11.
Have the paperwork ready to sign when I get home.
The lawyer says we need it done today.
I turned the phone so Abigail could read it.
Her face went tight.
"He already has the documents drawn up," she said.
May you like
"Yes." I set the phone face-down.
"But he doesn't know I've already spoken to mine."
