Chapter 5: The Papers He Brought Home
My lawyer's name was Patricia Hale.
She had been recommended by a colleague at the clinic — a no-nonsense woman in her late fifties who wore reading glasses on a chain and spoke in complete, precise sentences.
When I had called her the night before, she had listened to everything without interrupting, asked four specific questions, and said: *Don't sign anything.
Don't tell him about the lottery.
Come to my office at nine tomorrow and bring whatever documentation you have.*
I was at her office by nine-fifteen with Abigail's envelope.
Patricia spread the bank statements across her desk and read them without speaking.
When she finished, she took off her glasses.
"He's been siphoning from the joint business account for four years," she said.
"Yes."
"And your name is still on that account as co-signatory."
"Yes."
"Which means technically you have equal liability for its debts — which is exactly what he wants to use to pressure you into signing the asset declaration." She tapped the papers.
"This is not a coincidence.
This has been planned."
"How do I stop it?"
"You've already started." She picked up her pen.
"First, we freeze your personal accounts today — the ones in your name only.
The lottery winnings go into a new account he has no access to and no knowledge of.
We do that before eleven o'clock." She looked at me over her glasses.
"Second, when he comes home with those documents, you don't sign.
You tell him you'd like your lawyer to review them first.
Nothing more."
"He won't accept that."
"No," she said.
"He won't.
And how he reacts to that refusal will tell us a great deal." She set down the pen.
"Are you prepared for him to be angry?"
I thought about the voice through the hospital door.
*Her entire life revolves around me.*
"Yes," I said.
"I think I've been prepared for longer than I knew."
Douglas arrived home at twelve-thirty.
I heard his car in the drive and sat at the kitchen table with my hands folded and the notebook closed in front of me.
No lottery ticket visible.
No documents.
Nothing that would tell him anything before I was ready.
He came through the door looking better than a man who had spent eleven days in hospital had any right to look.
Colour in his face.
Easy in his movements.
He set his bag down and looked at me with the particular smile he used when he wanted something.
"There she is," he said.
"I missed you."
"How are you feeling?" I asked.
"Better.
Much better." He came to the table and kissed the top of my head — a performance, I now understood, that he had been giving for years.
"Listen, I need to talk to you about something.
The business."
"All right."
He sat down across from me and pulled a folder from his bag.
He set it on the table between us the same way Abigail had set her envelope — but with none of her hesitation.
"The accountant called while I was in hospital.
We're in trouble, Gwen.
Real trouble.
There are outstanding loans I haven't told you about because I didn't want to worry you while things were already so hard." He opened the folder.
"I need you to sign a joint asset declaration.
It's just a formality — it protects the business from the creditors touching our personal property."
I looked at the papers without touching them.
"How much?" I asked.
"The total exposure is around two hundred thousand."
"Where did it come from?"
A flicker.
So fast I would have missed it a week ago.
"Equipment loans.
A couple of supplier agreements that went sideways." He pushed the papers slightly closer.
"It's complicated, but Patricia — my accountant — says if we sign today, we can restructure and come out fine."
"I'd like my lawyer to look at it first," I said.
The smile didn't disappear.
It changed.
"Your lawyer," he repeated.
"Yes.
I called Patricia Hale.
I've been meaning to get proper legal advice on our finances for a while now.
She can look at these today and—"
"Gwen." His voice dropped.
Not angry yet.
Warning.
"This is time-sensitive.
If we don't sign today, the creditors can move against the business assets by Friday."
"Then Patricia can turn it around quickly." I met his eyes.
"I'm sure if it's as straightforward as you say, she'll have no concerns."
Douglas looked at me for a long moment.
Something shifted behind his eyes.
A recalculation.
"Fine," he said.
He closed the folder.
"Call her."
He stood up, took his bag, and walked toward the bedroom.
At the doorway he stopped.
"You seem different," he said.
He didn't say it warmly.
"I'm tired," I said.
"Eleven days is a long time to manage everything alone."
He looked at me one more second.
Then he went through the door.
I waited until I heard the shower running.
Then I picked up my phone and sent Patricia one word.
*He's home.*
Her reply came back in under a minute.
May you like
*I'm ready.
Don't let him near your purse.*
