Chapter 5: What Karen Knew
Karen had kept the secret for six months.
She told me that first.
Not as an excuse.
As a fact she had clearly been carrying like something too heavy for one person.
"He came to me in September," she said.
"He was panicking.
Lauren had just told him she was pregnant and he didn't know what to do.
He begged me not to say anything until he figured it out."
"And you agreed."
"I told him he had two weeks to tell you himself.
Then two weeks became a month.
Then it was Christmas and he said he didn't want to ruin the holidays.
Then it was your birthday." She paused.
"I should have told you.
I know that."
"Why didn't you?"
"Because he's my brother and I was stupid enough to think he would do the right thing on his own." Her voice tightened.
"He never does.
I don't know why I keep thinking he will."
I was parked outside a gas station on Mercer Road.
The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead.
A man was filling his tank on the other side of the pump.
Normal.
Ordinary.
The world continuing as if nothing had happened.
"Is there anything else?" I said.
"Anything he hasn't told me."
Karen was quiet for a moment.
"There's the money," she said.
"What money."
"He's been moving money out of your joint account.
Small amounts.
Since August.
I found out because he asked Dad to help him set up a separate account and Dad mentioned it to me thinking I already knew."
My hand tightened on the phone.
"How much?"
"I don't know exactly.
Dad said it looked like around eighteen thousand over four months."
Eighteen thousand dollars.
While I was working.
While I was planning a trip to Portugal.
While I was writing a card that said *I'm so glad I can trust you* and tucking it into a pink gift bag for my sister.
"Karen," I said.
"I need you to do something for me."
"Anything."
"Don't tell Michael we talked.
Don't tell him what you told me.
Not yet."
"Okay."
"And the account Dad helped him set up — do you know which bank?"
She gave me the name.
I wrote it on the back of a receipt from my glove compartment.
The pen was almost dry.
I pressed hard enough to leave an impression in the paper.
"What are you going to do?" Karen said.
"I'm going to find out exactly what he took.
And then I'm going to talk to someone who can tell me what my options are."
"A lawyer?"
"A lawyer."
She exhaled.
"Good.
Evie — I'm sorry.
I'm so sorry I didn't—"
"I know," I said.
"We'll talk about that part later.
Right now I just need to think."
I hung up.
Sat in the parking lot.
The man at the other pump had driven away.
It was just me and the fluorescent lights now.
Eighteen thousand dollars.
I opened my banking app.
Checked our joint account.
The balance looked normal at first glance.
Then I looked at the transaction history.
Small withdrawals.
Two hundred here.
Four hundred there.
One for six hundred on a Tuesday in October when I remembered he had told me he was working late.
It was all there.
Quiet and methodical.
Like he had planned it.
I closed the app.
He had been building a way out.
While I was in the marriage, he was already leaving it — taking pieces of it with him, one careful withdrawal at a time.
My phone buzzed.
A text from Michael.
*We need to talk.
Please come home.*
I stared at it for a long time.
Then I put the car in drive and headed in the opposite direction of home.
May you like
I had one more stop to make before morning.
And Michael wasn't going to like what came after it.
