Then she pushed her laptop toward me.
“Bank accounts.”
I frowned.
“What?”
“Check them.”
“Maya—”
“You can collapse tomorrow. Tonight, check the money.”
That sentence changed my divorce.
Grant was a senior development manager for a commercial property company. He traveled often enough that hotel charges and dinners didn’t automatically look suspicious.
But when we compared the dates with his calendar, patterns appeared.
A boutique hotel in Scottsdale.
$1,920.
A restaurant in Las Vegas.
$680.
Two business-class airline tickets to Miami.
A resort in Napa.
A spa charge.
A designer store.
Then a jewelry store.
$28,900.
Maya stared at the screen.
“Please tell me that was yours.”
“No.”
“Christmas?”
“No.”
“Anniversary?”
“No.”
She leaned back.
“Oh, Natalie.”
That number changed the feeling in my chest.
Cheating was betrayal.
Using our joint money to finance it was something colder.
By 9:00 the next morning, I was speaking to a divorce attorney.
Her name was Rebecca Shaw.
She was in her early fifties, dressed simply, spoke quietly, and had the unnerving calm of a person who had watched hundreds of people lie across conference tables.
She reviewed everything I had brought.
The apartment paperwork.
The account statements.
The title to my SUV.
The inheritance documents from my grandmother.
Finally, Rebecca folded her hands.
“I need you to do something difficult.”
“What?”
“Stop thinking about what Grant deserves emotionally.”
I waited.
“Start thinking about what belongs to whom financially.”
My father had given me a large sum toward the apartment before Grant and I closed on it.
My SUV had been purchased largely with money I had before the marriage.
And Grant had apparently used shared funds to maintain his affair.
Rebecca tapped the bank statements.
“He may have entered this divorce believing you would be too devastated to look closely.”
She met my eyes.
“Do not reward that assumption.”
That afternoon, I logged into the building security portal.
Vanessa’s face appeared over and over.
11:18 p.m.
12:02 a.m.
10:49 p.m.
1:27 a.m.
Some nights Grant met her in the garage.
Other nights she used the resident elevator.
