Chapter 5 - The Transfers**
The first batch of records arrived by late afternoon.
I sat at the dining table—our dining table—and went through them line by line.
Most were routine. Joint accounts, household expenses, his credit card bills.
Then I saw it.
A payment of eight thousand dollars to a property management company in the city. Repeated monthly. For twenty months.
I pulled up the address.
A luxury apartment downtown. Three bedrooms, river view.
Vanessa’s name wasn’t on the lease. But the email listed as the occupant contact matched her work address exactly.
I kept scrolling.
Another payment. Jewelry store. Twelve thousand. Six weeks after the gala where he’d told me my dress was nice enough.
Then travel. Weekend trips. Hotels. Flights—all charged to the joint account he’d promised was strictly business.
The total came to one point two million dollars.
In twelve months.
My fingers stilled on the screen.
He hadn’t just been cheating. He’d been funding an entire second life with our—*my*—money.
Eleanor stepped into the room. She saw my face.
"You found it."
"One point two million," I said. "Directed to Vanessa’s accounts, her apartment, her expenses. All from accounts he controlled."
"Embezzlement," Eleanor said flatly. "If the funds were drawn from company or joint marital assets, that’s criminal."
I kept reading. There was more.
Payments to a private investigator. Dating back three years.
"Daniel had me investigated," I said, disbelieving. "He was looking for leverage. Something to use against me."
"Did they find anything?"
"Nothing. Because there was nothing to find." I looked up. "He was planning this long before I knew."
Eleanor pulled out another sheet.
"Vanessa sent an email to his personal account this morning. While he was still drafting his demand letter."
She turned the screen so I could read.
*—If this falls apart, you promised me half. Not a share. Half. And I want the apartment transferred into my name before the end of the week. Don’t tell me you can’t make it happen—you’ve been managing it fine so far.*
I leaned back in the chair.
"They’re already turning on each other," I said.
"Partners in greed rarely stay aligned," Eleanor said. "But they’re also dangerous together. If they decide to coordinate their story…"
"Let them," I said. "Every transfer is dated, signed, traceable. Every email has a timestamp. Every payment has a paper trail."
I stood.
"Send copies to Daniel’s lawyer. And send Vanessa a separate notice—we will pursue full restitution. Every dollar."
Eleanor hesitated.
"Claire… if they have nothing left to lose…"
"Then they’ll make mistakes," I finished. "And we’ll be there to catch them."
I reached for the phone.
"One more thing. I need to know who holds the keys to that shell company. The one that wiped the farm footage."
"It’s being traced," she said. "But it’s layered. Deliberately."
"Keep digging."
She left me alone again.
I walked to the fireplace mantle. There was a framed photo there—Daniel and me at the farm, smiling, the year before the affair started.
He’d held me close. He’d said This is where I want to bring our children.
All lies.
I picked it up. Ran a finger along the frame. Then set it face down.
May you like
I smoothed my dress hem.
The game was changing. And I wasn’t playing defense anymore.
