Chapter 5: The First Move
I didn't sleep much.
Around five in the morning I gave up and made coffee.
I sat at the kitchen table with my phone and started going through our joint account — the savings, not the checking.
Three months ago: four thousand dollars.
Gone in a single transfer, labeled *household expenses.*
Six weeks ago: twenty-two hundred.
*Repairs.*
Three weeks ago: thirty-five hundred.
*Medical.*
I set the phone face-down on the table.
We hadn't had any repairs.
There had been no medical bills.
I would have known.
I paid the medical insurance.
I handled the explanations of benefits.
If there had been a bill, it would have come to me first.
I picked up the phone again and called my brother.
He answered on the second ring, groggy.
"Ray?
It's five in the morning."
"I know.
I need a name."
"What kind of name?"
"A good family attorney.
Someone who works with divorce.
Someone thorough."
A pause.
"How bad is it?"
"I don't know the whole shape yet.
But I need to know my position before she knows I know."
Another pause.
Then: "I'll text you someone in an hour.
His name's Marcus.
He's good.
He's quiet."
"Thank you."
I hung up.
Diane's footsteps moved overhead.
She was up early too.
She came downstairs in her robe and stopped when she saw me at the table.
"You're up," she said.
"Couldn't sleep."
She moved to the coffee maker.
Her back was to me.
"Are you still angry about last night?" she asked.
"I'm not angry."
She turned slightly.
"You seem distant."
"I'm tired, Diane.
It was a hard evening."
She poured her coffee and leaned against the counter, watching me with the careful, measuring look I now understood differently than I had twenty-four hours ago.
"Ray," she said gently.
"I want to apologize.
What I said yesterday — about you not being her father — I was wrong to say it.
You have been wonderful to Kayla."
I looked at her.
She held my gaze.
Her expression was warm, soft, concerned.
She was very good at this.
"Thank you," I said.
"I think we should talk.
Really talk.
About where we are." She sat down across from me.
"I feel like there's been distance between us for a while.
I don't want to lose what we have."
"What do we have?" I asked.
She blinked.
"What?"
"What do you feel like we have?
I'd like to hear you describe it."
She set her mug down.
The warmth in her expression flickered — just for a moment — and something more calculating moved behind it.
"A family," she said.
"A life.
Years of building something together."
"Right," I said.
"Yeah."
My phone buzzed.
A text from my brother: *Marcus Hale.
I'll send his number now.
Tell him I sent you.*
I turned my phone over before Diane could see the screen.
"I'd like that too," I said.
"To really talk.
Can we do it this weekend?
Give everyone a chance to settle."
She reached across the table and put her hand over mine.
"Of course."
Her hand was warm.
Her smile was everything it needed to be.
I smiled back.
That afternoon, I called Marcus Hale from my car in a parking garage three blocks from my office.
He answered on the first ring.
"Marcus Hale."
"My name is Ray.
My brother gave me your number.
I need to understand something before my wife does."
"All right," he said.
"Tell me what you're working with."
I told him about the missing money.
The text messages Kayla had found.
The argument that had been engineered the night before.
The prom list.
The pattern.
Marcus was quiet while I talked.
When I finished, he said, "Has she filed anything yet?
Any legal documents — petition, protective order, anything?"
"Not that I know of."
"Then you have time, but not much.
The money transfers are the most urgent issue.
Can you document them?"
"I already have screenshots."
"Good.
Send those to me.
I also want you to get into those accounts today and move your direct deposit to a separate account in your name only.
Do it before the weekend.
Do it quietly."
"She'll notice."
"She'll notice when the next deposit doesn't appear.
That gives you several weeks, depending on your pay cycle.
By then we'll have a clearer picture." He paused.
"The texts on her daughter's phone — are they still there?"
"I told Kayla to leave the phone exactly where she found it."
"Smart.
Don't touch that phone again.
Don't ask Kayla about it.
If it becomes relevant, there are proper ways to surface that information.
For now, let it sit."
"All right."
"Ray," Marcus said, and his voice shifted slightly, "this is going to feel slow.
It's supposed to feel slow.
You cannot react.
Not yet."
"I understand."
"She's expecting a reaction.
She's built the stage for one.
Don't give her the scene she's written."
I looked at the concrete wall of the parking garage in front of me.
"Don't give her the scene she's written," I repeated.
May you like
"Exactly," he said.
"Now send me those screenshots."
