Chapter 3 - THE ENVELOPE
At 7:12 the next morning, someone knocked on my front door.
I was standing in the kitchen making pancakes when I heard it.
Griffin was upstairs.
The girls were still asleep.
I wiped my hands on a towel and walked toward the foyer.
A woman in a navy suit stood outside.
She held a thick envelope.
"Mrs. Whitaker?"
"Yes."
"I'm here on behalf of your attorney."
My stomach tightened.
I opened the door.
She handed me the envelope.
"You're going to want to read this privately."
I thanked her and closed the door.
For several seconds, I simply stood there.
Then I opened it.
The first document was the formal notice concerning Ilsa.
The second was a copy of the trust.
The third made my hands go cold.
It was a bank statement.
Not mine.
Not Griffin's.
An account I had never seen.
The account belonged to a company called Whitaker Family Holdings.
I stared at the name.
Whitaker was Griffin's surname.
The company had been established eleven years ago.
One year after our wedding.
I kept reading.
There were transfers.
Large ones.
Some of them were marked as "property maintenance."
Others were labeled "family expenses."
But the amounts were far too large.
Hundreds of thousands of dollars.
Then I saw something that made my heart pound.
Several payments had been transferred from an account connected to my father's estate.
My father's estate.
I read the page again.
Then again.
Someone had been moving money from my inheritance.
And the transfers had begun before my father died.
I heard footsteps upstairs.
I shoved the documents back into the envelope.
Griffin came down the stairs wearing yesterday's shirt.
He looked exhausted.
"Morning."
"Morning."
He walked into the kitchen.
"Are the girls awake?"
"No."
He opened the refrigerator.
Then he stopped.
"What is that?"
"Nothing."
His eyes moved toward the envelope.
"Claire."
I said nothing.
He closed the refrigerator.
"What happened?"
I studied his face.
"Did you know about Whitaker Family Holdings?"
The color drained from his face.
That was all the answer I needed.
"Griffin."
He sat down.
"Where did you hear that?"
"That's not an answer."
He rubbed his forehead.
"I can explain."
"Good."
He looked at me.
"Because I'm about to ask you a very simple question."
I placed the envelope on the counter.
"Did you ever transfer money from my father's estate?"
His silence lasted five seconds.
Then ten.
"Not personally."
I felt something inside me crack.
"What does that mean?"
"I didn't personally move it."
"Who did?"
He looked toward the stairs.
"My mother."
The kitchen seemed to tilt.
"What?"
"I found out last year."
"And you said nothing?"
"I was trying to fix it."
"With what?"
He stood.
"I was going to replace it."
"How?"
"I had a deal coming."
I laughed bitterly.
"You were going to replace money you stole from me?"
"I didn't steal it."
"You knew about it."
"Yes."
"You allowed it."
He looked away.
"Yes."
The word was barely audible.
I stared at him.
For twelve years, I had thought my husband was weak.
Now I realized something much worse.
He wasn't simply weak.
He had chosen silence.
I picked up the envelope.
"How much?"
He didn't answer.
"How much, Griffin?"
"About six hundred thousand."
I closed my eyes.
Six hundred thousand dollars.
My father's money.
Money meant for my daughters.
Money my father had specifically protected for them.
I whispered, "Where did it go?"
Griffin's jaw tightened.
"Mom said she needed it."
"For what?"
"I don't know."
I looked at him.
"You never asked?"
He didn't answer.
That silence told me everything.
Then a bedroom door opened upstairs.
Merisette's sleepy voice floated down.
"Mom?"
I quickly wiped my eyes.
"Coming, sweetheart."
I walked toward the stairs.
Behind me, Griffin said quietly:
"Claire."
I stopped.
"I'm sorry."
I didn't turn around.
"Sorry doesn't put money back."
Then I heard another sound.
A phone vibrating.
Not mine.
Griffin's.
He pulled it from his pocket.
The screen lit up.
One message.
From his mother.
THE LAWYER KNOWS. GET RID OF THE DOCUMENTS BEFORE SHE DOES.
I saw it.
Griffin saw me see it.
Neither of us spoke.
Then he deleted the message.
May you like
Too late.
I had already memorized every word.
