“The teller printed out the transaction,” I said, watching him. “It showed the money was moved into an account under your name.”
Daniel set the salt shaker down, his movements slow and deliberate.
“Claire, you are letting your imagination run away with you,” he said, his tone dropping into that mock-concerned register. “I had to move some funds around to cover the marketing costs for the new listings. It is just a temporary business transfer.”
“But my name is not on the account,” I said.
“It is a business account,” he said, his voice tightening. “It does not need to be. You are making a big deal out of a standard accounting procedure.”
He reached across the table, his hand open toward my phone, which was sitting next to my plate in its bright orange case.
“Let me see your phone,” he said. “I want to check that recipe Julie sent you for the birthday cake on Saturday. I need to know what ingredients we are supposed to bring.”
I hesitated, my fingers curling inward.
Daniel’s face turned completely cold, the mock-concern vanishing instantly from his eyes.
“Is there something on that phone you do not want me to see, Claire?” he asked.
I did not answer him, my hand moving to my pocket where the folded statement lay hidden.
“I will look up the recipe later,” I said, after a long pause.
He stared at me for several seconds, his fingernails beginning to tap against the glass again, a slow, menacing rhythm in the quiet room.
“Fine,” he said, standing up from the table. “If you want to be difficult about a simple family dinner, that is your choice.”
He walked out of the kitchen, his heavy steps fading down the hallway toward his study.
I took the folded bank statement out of my pocket and smoothed it out on the wooden table.
I stared at the paper statement showing twelve thousand dollars moved to an unknown destination.
The paper felt cold against my thumbs. I slipped the statement into my cardigan pocket and walked back to the filing cabinets where Martha was sorting the new immunization records.
