Chapter 3: What the Receipts Already Knew
Rebecca set her pen down on the desk and looked at Nathan.
"I'd suggest you not make that call in this room," she said.
"Anything discussed here may become relevant later."
Nathan's jaw tightened.
"You can't tell me who I can and can't call."
"No," Rebecca agreed.
"I can't.
But your attorney will tell you the same thing when you speak to him.
Which I strongly recommend you do.
Today."
Margaret was still standing.
Her hands were clasped in front of her, the knuckles pale.
"This is absurd," she said.
"Olivia, you are his wife.
Whatever arrangement you have with this company — this LLC or whatever it is — Nathan is your husband.
That means something."
"It does mean something," I said.
"It means I supported this family for seven years.
It means I paid for this house.
It means I covered every bill, every debt, every emergency that came through that door." I paused.
"And it means my name is the only one on the deed."
Nathan took a step toward me.
"Olivia—"
"Sit down, Nathan."
He stopped.
Something in my voice made him stop.
He sat.
Rebecca opened a second folder — one I hadn't seen her prepare.
She slid a single page across the desk toward Nathan.
"This is a summary of transactions from the joint household account over the past eighteen months," she said.
"Forty thousand dollars withdrawn in increments between March and September of last year.
Would you like to explain those?"
Nathan looked at the page.
He said nothing.
"There are also charges here from a card registered to a secondary account." Rebecca tapped the paper.
"The billing address is a PO box in Riverside.
The card was used at the Harrington Hotel four times.
Twice for dinner reservations.
Once for a jewelry purchase at Caldwell's on Fifth." She looked up.
"And once for a two-night suite."
The room was very quiet.
Margaret made a small sound — not quite a word.
More like the beginning of one she decided not to finish.
"Nathan," I said.
"Who is she?"
He looked at the table.
"Nathan."
"It's not what you think."
"Then tell me what it is."
He pressed his fingers to his forehead.
"It's complicated."
"David's name is on two of those receipts," I said.
"He signed for the dinners.
His signature is right there." I pointed to the page.
"So either your brother was taking someone out on your card, or you were both there.
Which is it?"
Nathan's head came up.
For the first time that morning, something shifted behind his eyes.
Not guilt.
Something closer to fear.
Margaret spoke before he could.
"Leave David out of this," she said sharply.
I turned to look at her.
She was already looking away.
Her jaw was set.
Her hand had moved to the back of Nathan's chair, gripping it.
She wasn't protecting Nathan.
She was protecting David.
"Margaret," I said quietly.
"How long have you known?"
She didn't answer.
"How long?"
Her grip on the chair tightened.
The leather creased under her fingers.
Nathan stood up suddenly.
The chair scraped back.
"I need some air," he said.
"Sit down," Rebecca said.
Her voice was calm and completely firm.
"We are not finished."
He didn't sit.
But he didn't leave either.
He stood with his back to us, one hand on the wall near the window, looking out at the parking lot below.
Rebecca gathered the pages without rushing.
"I'll need responses to these transactions in writing," she said.
"Formal responses, through your legal representative.
Any attempt to access, transfer, or encumber the property at Linden Drive will be met with an immediate injunction." She closed the folder.
"Are we clear?"
Nathan didn't turn around.
"Are we clear, Mr.
Harlow?"
"Yes," he said.
Very quietly.
"We're clear."
I picked up my bag.
Margaret finally looked at me.
Her expression had changed.
The smugness was completely gone.
What replaced it was harder to name — something between calculation and dread.
"Olivia," she said.
"Whatever you think you know—"
"I'll be in touch," I said.
I walked out of the room.
In the elevator, Rebecca stood beside me and said nothing until the doors closed.
Then: "He knows you know about the woman.
But he's more afraid of the David question than the affair."
May you like
I looked at the floor numbers descending.
"So am I," I said.
