After hanging up, I opened my laptop.
For the next two hours, I reviewed accounts.
Joint checking.
Savings.
Retirement.
Investment statements.
Mortgage balance.
Business documents.
Nothing obvious was missing.
No mysterious transfers.
No unexplained withdrawals beyond ordinary household spending.
That should have reassured me.
It didn’t.
At ten thirty, there was a knock at the villa door.
I checked the camera.
Grant.
Alone.
I opened the door but did not invite him inside.
“What?”
His expression softened.
“Can I come in?”
“No.”
“Eleanor.”
“Grant.”
He glanced down the walkway.
“Please.”
I stepped outside and closed the door behind me.
“What do you want?”
“To talk.”
“About Simone?”
“About us.”
“There is no us at this resort.”
His jaw tightened.
“Would you stop saying things like that?”
“Would you stop creating situations where they’re accurate?”
He leaned against the railing.
For the first time since the airport, he looked tired rather than angry.
“I handled this badly.”
I almost laughed.
“That’s a very efficient summary.”
“I didn’t intend to humiliate you.”
“What did you intend?”
“I wanted the trip to force a decision.”
“For whom?”
“All of us.”
I stared at him.
“All of us?”
He rubbed his face.
“I didn’t know how to end things with you.”
“So you brought Simone?”
“I thought once everything was out in the open, we couldn’t keep pretending.”
That sentence was almost breathtaking.
“You needed your mistress at the airport because you lacked the courage to speak to your wife privately?”
He looked away.
“When you say it like that—”
“How else should I say it?”
He had no answer.
I asked:
“Why have you been asking Martin about my assets?”
His head snapped toward me.
“What?”
“Our accountant.”
He recovered quickly.
“I was reviewing finances.”
“For what?”
“Retirement.”
“Before or after you decided you loved Simone?”
“That has nothing to do with her.”
“Then why didn’t you ask me?”
“Because every financial conversation becomes complicated with you.”
I almost smiled.
“Meaning I ask questions.”
“You control everything.”
There it was.
A new accusation.
Apparently the role I had played for twenty-five years—organizing taxes, managing household bills, tracking investments—had now become control.
“You had access to every joint account.”
“That’s not what I mean.”
“What do you mean?”
“You always know where everything is.”
“Because somebody had to.”
“And that made you feel superior.”
I stared at him.
“No. It made taxes easier.”
He shook his head.
“You’re impossible.”
“Then answer the question.”
“What question?”
“Why were you asking about my separate assets?”
Grant looked toward the dark water.
Finally:
“Because if we separated, I needed to understand where I stood.”
There.
Honest at last.
“How long have you been planning to separate?”
“I wasn’t planning.”
“You were calculating.”
“That’s different.”
“Is it?”
“Yes.”
He exhaled.
“I have responsibilities.”
“To whom?”
“Myself.”
“What about Simone?”
Silence.
I understood.
“Grant.”
He looked at me.
“Has Simone been asking what you would receive if we divorced?”
His expression gave him away.
Not dramatically.
Just enough.
“She asked general questions.”
“Of course.”
“She has her own career.”
“I didn’t say she wanted my money.”
“You implied it.”
“No.”
I shook my head.
“I’m wondering whether you’ve been dishonest with both of us.”
His jaw tightened.
“You don’t know anything about her.”
“That may be the first thing we agree on.”
The next morning, I called a family-law attorney in Charlotte.
Her name was Lauren Pierce.
She had been recommended years earlier by a friend during a different divorce.
I never imagined I would need her.
Lauren listened quietly.
Then asked practical questions.
“How long married?”
“Twenty-five years next week.”
“North Carolina residence?”
“Yes.”
“Children minors?”
“No.”
“Prenup?”
“No.”
“Any business ownership?”
“Yes.”
“Separate inheritance?”
“Yes.”
“Joint real estate?”
“Yes.”
“Do you have evidence of the affair?”
“I watched them board a plane together.”
“That’s not exactly what I meant, but it’s relevant.”
I almost laughed.
Lauren continued.
“Do not move money simply to deprive him of access.”
“I haven’t.”
“Do not destroy records.”
“I won’t.”
“Do not sign anything he gives you.”
“I won’t.”
“Make copies of financial records you are legally entitled to access.”
“I already started.”
“Good.”
Then she said something important.
“And don’t negotiate your marriage at a resort.”
I leaned back.
“I wasn’t planning to.”
“You’d be surprised.”
She explained that people often made terrible financial decisions because they wanted emotional closure immediately.
I understood.
Grant wanted exactly that.
A conversation.
An agreement.
A civilized understanding before we returned to Charlotte.
Something that allowed him to tell himself he had handled everything respectfully.
I had no intention of giving him that.
At noon, the concierge called.
“Mrs. Mercer, we wanted to confirm tonight’s anniversary dinner setup.”
I closed my eyes.
The actual anniversary dinner was scheduled for that evening.
Private deck.
Chef’s tasting menu.
Small cake.
A photographer for sunset portraits.
I had forgotten how elaborate I had made it.
“Cancel the photographer.”
“Of course.”
