Chapter 5: What She Didn't Know She Was Giving Me
Grace called me the next morning at seven forty-five.
"She texted you last night."
"I forwarded it."
"I know.
I've been reading it." A pause.
"She said he told her the Scottsdale account was for both of them.
A fresh start."
"That's what she said."
"That's a problem for him." Grace's voice had a particular quality I'd learned to recognize — the sound of someone who has just found exactly what they needed.
"It means he was using marital funds to build a life with another woman.
That's not just a hidden asset.
That's dissipation of marital property with intent."
"What does that mean in practical terms?"
"It means the number gets larger.
Significantly." Another pause.
"Did she send anything else?"
"Not yet."
"If she does, forward everything.
Don't respond.
Don't block her." A beat.
"She's angry at him now, not you.
Angry people send things they shouldn't."
She was right.
Over the next six days, three more texts arrived from that unknown number.
The first one came Wednesday evening: *He's not returning my calls.
Did you tell him I called you?*
The second came Thursday afternoon: *He said this was all your fault.
That you manipulated him for years.
I believed him.
I don't know what I believe anymore.*
The third came Saturday morning, and it was different from the others.
It was a screenshot.
A conversation between her and David.
The timestamps ran back eight months.
In it, he had told her that I was mentally unstable.
That I had a history of making false accusations.
That if things ever went legal, she shouldn't be surprised if I tried to drag her into it.
He had been preparing his defense before I'd even filed.
I sat at the kitchen table and read the screenshot three times.
Then I called Grace.
"She sent me something."
I heard Grace open her laptop.
"Send it now."
I forwarded it.
Thirty seconds of silence.
"He was coaching her," Grace said.
"Building a narrative about you in advance.
In case she was ever deposed."
"Can we use it?"
"It speaks to his state of mind, his intent, and his credibility." Grace's voice was very calm.
"Yes.
We can use it."
I set the phone down and looked out the kitchen window.
The yard was the same as it had always been — the same oak tree, the same fence line, the same garden I'd planted the summer we moved in.
Twelve years ago.
He had carried the bags of soil from the car and complained about his back the whole time, and I had laughed, and it had felt like a life.
"Olivia." Grace's voice came from the phone on the table.
I picked it up.
"I'm here."
"Are you all right?"
"I'm fine."
"You don't have to be fine."
I looked at the garden.
"I know," I said.
"I'm fine anyway."
Grace let that sit for a moment.
"Crane called me this morning.
Before you texted.
He wants to schedule a second meeting.
He said David is — and I'm quoting — 'open to a more productive conversation.'"
"What changed?"
"Page thirty-one changed it.
The Scottsdale account." A pause.
"He didn't think you knew.
Now he knows you know.
And he doesn't know what else you know."
"What else do I know?"
"That," Grace said, "is exactly the question keeping him up at night."
The second meeting was scheduled for the following Tuesday.
I spent the weekend going through everything again — every photograph, every account statement, every text message, the screenshot she'd sent me, the transfer records, the notarized addendum on page nine.
I laid it all out on the dining room table and went through it piece by piece, the way Grace had taught me.
Not looking for new ammunition.
Just making sure I understood the shape of everything I already had.
Sunday evening, my sister called.
Her name was Ruth.
She was four years older than me, lived two states away, and had never liked David — not from the first Thanksgiving he'd attended, when he'd spent forty minutes explaining to her husband why his career choices had been financially shortsighted.
"How are you doing?" she asked.
"I'm all right."
"You sound like you're all right.
That worries me more than if you sounded terrible."
I almost smiled.
"I'm managing."
"Are you eating?"
"Ruth."
"I'm asking."
"Yes.
I'm eating."
A pause.
"I always thought he'd be the one to fall apart first.
He was never as smart as he thought he was."
"He's smart enough.
He just didn't think I was paying attention."
"That's the oldest mistake in the book," Ruth said.
"Underestimating the person who makes everything run."
I didn't answer that.
"Do you need me to come?" she asked.
"Not yet."
"When?"
"I'll tell you when." I looked at the papers spread across the dining room table.
"It's almost over, Ruth.
I just need to get through Tuesday."
"Call me after."
"I will."
I hung up and sat in the quiet for a moment.
Then I started organizing the papers back into the folder.
In order.
The way Grace had shown me.
May you like
Tuesday was coming.
And David still didn't know about the second folder.
