Chapter 3: What the Numbers Said
Brenda set her laptop on the kitchen table and turned it so Samantha could see the screen clearly.
The account was registered under a name Samantha didn't recognize.
Daniel Reyes.
But the transfers in and out told a different story.
Every month for fourteen months, between three and six thousand dollars had moved from Christian's personal account into this one.
"Who is Daniel Reyes?" Samantha asked.
"I don't know yet," Brenda said.
"But look at this."
She pointed to a column on the right side of the screen.
Withdrawal locations.
Miami.
Miami.
Miami.
Tampa.
Miami again.
"He's been going to Miami for over a year," Samantha said.
"At least.
And these aren't work trips, Sam.
Look at the dates.
Some of these withdrawals happened on weekends."
Samantha sat back in her chair.
Twelve years.
She had been married to this man for twelve years, and she had believed almost everything he told her.
Not because she was foolish.
Because he was careful.
"Does my lawyer need to see this?" she asked.
"I already sent her a copy," Brenda said.
"I hope that's okay."
"It's more than okay."
Rachel, who had been standing near the window, turned around.
"Sam, I have to ask you something.
And I need you to be honest with me."
"Go ahead."
"Did you ever add Christian to the title of the apartment?
At any point?
Even informally?"
"Never," Samantha said.
"My name is the only name on that deed.
Always has been."
"Then how does he think he can sell it?"
Samantha had been turning that question over since the night before.
There was only one answer that made sense.
"He was going to forge my signature," she said.
"Or convince me to sign something I didn't fully read.
He's been setting this up for months.
The documents he asked me to send him — the photos of the apartment, the deed copies — those weren't for a mortgage calculation.
He was building a file."
The room was quiet.
Brenda closed the laptop slowly.
"Your lawyer called while you were talking.
She wants to meet today.
She said don't touch anything in the apartment.
Don't move any documents.
Don't change any passwords yet."
"Why not yet?"
"Because if Christian suspects something has changed, he'll move the money before anyone can freeze it."
Samantha nodded.
She understood the logic.
It felt wrong to sit still while he was in Miami with another woman, planning to come home and hand her papers to sign.
But she understood.
Her phone buzzed on the table.
A message from Christian.
*Miss you.
Can't wait to be home.
We'll sort everything out together.*
She read it twice.
Then she set the phone face-down.
"Rachel," she said.
"I need you to do something for me."
"Anything."
"Find out everything you can about Brittany.
Where she works.
Where she lives.
Whether she knows Christian is married." She paused.
"And whether she knows about the apartment."
Rachel looked at her carefully.
"You think Brittany might not know the full plan either?"
"I think Christian has been telling two women two different versions of the same story," Samantha said.
"And I want to know exactly what he told her."
That afternoon, Samantha met her lawyer, a sharp, quiet woman named Gloria Marsh, in a corner office downtown.
Gloria had already reviewed the listing, the title search record, and the account transfers Brenda had forwarded.
She folded her hands on the desk.
"He can't legally sell that apartment without your signature," Gloria said.
"But that's not the only risk here.
If he found a buyer willing to move fast and you signed anything — even something that looked routine — it could complicate things significantly."
"I'm not signing anything," Samantha said.
"Good.
Now, here's what I want to do." Gloria slid a single sheet across the desk.
"I want to place a protective notice on the title.
It flags the property so that no transfer can proceed without your direct, verified consent.
It won't alert Christian directly, but it will stop any sale in its tracks the moment someone tries to push it through."
"Do it," Samantha said.
Gloria picked up her pen.
"There's one more thing I need to ask you.
The transfers to the Daniel Reyes account — do you have any reason to believe this involves anything beyond the affair?
Any business dealings you weren't aware of?
Any loans?"
Samantha thought for a moment.
"Christian once mentioned a friend who owed him money.
Years ago.
He said it was being repaid slowly." She shook her head.
"I never thought about it again."
Gloria wrote something down.
"We'll look into it.
It may be nothing.
It may be the most important part of this."
She looked up from her notes.
"Samantha.
Whatever he was planning — he didn't finish it.
You got here first."
Samantha drove home alone.
She parked in her usual spot, walked through her front door, and stood in the hallway of the apartment she had bought before she ever knew Christian Cardenas existed.
Her phone buzzed again.
This time it was a number she didn't recognize.
May you like
The message was three words.
*We need to talk.*
