I stared at him.
“While I’m angry?”
“Yes.”
“You have spent five months dating another woman.”
“I know.”
“You created a fake divorce decree.”
“I know.”
“You convinced her I lived in another state.”
“I know.”
“You took seventy-five thousand dollars from her.”
“I did not take it.”
“And now you think my emotional state is the problem?”
“That’s not what I said.”
“It’s exactly what you said.”
He grabbed his glass.
I stood.
“Is Harbor Ridge connected to our house?”
He froze.
There it was again.
That tiny pause.
I had known Julian long enough to understand his silences.
That one terrified me.
“Is it?”
“Not directly.”
“What does directly mean?”
He stared at me.
“Camille, we need to stop for tonight.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
“You don’t get to decide when this conversation ends.”
“I’m not going to fight with you for six hours.”
“I’m not fighting.”
“You’re interrogating me.”
I almost laughed.
“You should probably get used to that feeling.”
His eyes narrowed.
“What does that mean?”
“It means I’m calling a lawyer tomorrow.”
That finally changed him.
The anger disappeared.
“Don’t do that yet.”
I stared.
“Why?”
“Because we can handle this between us.”
“The time for handling things between us ended somewhere around the fake divorce.”
“Camille, please.”
I shook my head.
“I’m sleeping in the guest room.”
He stepped toward me.
“Don’t.”
I stopped.
Not because I was afraid.
Because his tone was almost desperate.
“What?”
“Don’t make decisions tonight.”
I studied him.
“You’re scared.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
I had never seen it so clearly.
“You’re scared of what I might find.”
Julian looked away.
I walked upstairs.
He did not follow.
I locked the guest room door.
Then I called my older brother, Nolan.
Nolan lived outside Charleston and worked as a commercial attorney.
We were close enough that I had almost called him from the restaurant.
But saying the words out loud would make everything permanent.
Now permanent was already standing downstairs drinking bourbon.
Nolan answered on the second ring.
“Happy anniversary.”
I closed my eyes.
“Not really.”
His voice changed immediately.
“What happened?”
I told him.
Not elegantly.
Not in order.
Sabrina.
The restaurant.
The fake divorce.
The LLC.
The investment.
Julian’s reaction.
When I finished, Nolan was silent for several seconds.
Then he said, “Do not sign anything.”
“I wasn’t planning to.”
“Nothing. Not a tax form, not an insurance form, not a package delivery if Julian hands you the pen.”
My stomach tightened.
“Why are you saying it like that?”
“Because if he forged one document with your signature, you need to assume there may be others.”
I sat on the edge of the bed.
“Nolan.”
“I’m not saying there are.”
“Yes, you are.”
“I’m saying protect yourself first.”
“What do I do?”
“Tomorrow morning, freeze your credit.”
I stared at the wall.
“Check every joint account.”
“Okay.”
“Download statements.”
“Okay.”
“Do you have access to mortgage documents?”
“Yes.”
“Get them.”
“Why?”
“Because you asked whether that LLC was connected to the house and he gave you a lawyer’s answer.”
I swallowed.
“Not directly.”
“Exactly.”
Nolan exhaled.
“I’ll make calls in the morning.”
“To who?”
“Someone in Savannah who handles family law and complex financial cases.”
“I’m not ready to file for divorce.”
“That’s not what I said.”
I looked at my wedding ring.
“I don’t know what I’m ready for.”
“You don’t have to know tonight.”
That was the kindest thing anyone had said to me since the restaurant.
After we hung up, I opened our banking app.
The main checking account looked normal.
Mortgage.
Utilities.
Groceries.
Julian’s business transfers.
Then I checked savings.
A transfer for twenty thousand dollars had gone out two months earlier.
I sat upright.
The description was vague.
A linked account ending in 4081.
I did not recognize it.
Another transfer.
Twelve thousand.
Then eight thousand.
Then nine.
Four transactions.
Forty-nine thousand dollars.
I scrolled backward.
There were smaller amounts before that.
Five thousand.
Three thousand.
Six thousand.
By the time I finished adding them, almost seventy thousand dollars had left our joint savings over nine months.
My heart began pounding.
I called Julian.
He came upstairs immediately.
“What?”
I held up the phone.
“What is account 4081?”
His face changed.
“It’s business.”
“Our savings account is not your business account.”
“I replaced most of it.”
“That isn’t what I asked.”
“It was temporary.”
“For what?”
“A project.”
“Harbor Ridge?”
He didn’t answer.
I stood.
