Chapter 3 - The Audit of Eighteen Years
By seven o'clock on Friday evening, my phone had accumulated twenty-seven missed calls from Daniel, four voicemails, and a string of increasingly frantic text messages.
Claire, pick up.
Where did you take the kids' things?
Paige left. She drove back to the city. It’s not what it looked like.
Please call me. We need to talk about this like adults.
Claire, this is insane. Answer the phone.
I didn't answer a single one. I sat at the kitchen island of our primary home in Cary—a sprawling five-bedroom brick colonial surrounded by mature oaks—with a glass of sauvignon blanc and my laptop open.
My sister Rachel arrived at eight, carrying two boxes of takeout and an overnight bag. She didn't say a word when she walked through the garage door. She simply walked over, wrapped her arms around my neck, and squeezed until my shoulders finally dropped half an inch from their rigid defensive posture.
""Where are Lily and Ben?"" she asked, pulling back.
""At Mom's farm in Henderson,"" I said. ""They think Mom and I are doing an early summer deep-clean of the lake house before their swim camp starts next week. They don't know anything.""
""Good,"" Rachel said firmly, unpacking the containers of pad thai. ""Keep them out of the blast radius as long as you can. Have you looked at the accounts?""
""Better,"" I replied, turning the laptop screen toward her. ""I ran a cross-referenced audit of our personal credit card statements against his corporate expense reports from November to last week.""
Rachel leaned over, skimming the spreadsheets I had spent the last three hours building. ""Look at this,"" she pointed to a recurring charge. ""Boutique hotels in Asheville. Jewelry purchases at Tiffany's in Charlotte flagged under 'client gifts.' Did he actually think an accountant wouldn't notice a three-thousand-dollar diamond tennis bracelet listed as miscellaneous office supplies?""
""He didn't think an accountant would look,"" I answered. ""Daniel has handled our family taxes through his firm's internal preparer for the last six years. He simply handed me the signature pages every April and said, 'Sign here, honey, it's all handled.' And I trusted him. Because why wouldn't I? We built this life together from a two-bedroom apartment where we couldn't even afford matching plates.""
That was the part that stung. Not the dresses, not even the silk robe. It was the absolute, casual contempt required to use money earmarked for our children’s college funds to buy weekend getaways for a woman who wasn't even thirty yet.
The front door suddenly rattled.
A key turned in the deadbolt with violent haste.
Rachel and I didn't move. We remained seated at the island as the heavy mahogany door swung open and Daniel stormed into the foyer.
He looked terrible. His tie was stuffed into his jacket pocket, his white shirt wrinkled, his hair disheveled from running his hands through it during the two-hour drive from the lake. When he saw Rachel sitting there, he stopped in his tracks, his jaw clenching.
""Rachel,"" he muttered, breathless. ""Could you give us a moment? My wife and I need to speak.""
""No,"" Rachel said smoothly, picking up her fork. ""I don't think I will.""
Daniel ignored her and stepped into the kitchen, his eyes locking onto me. ""Claire, you ran away. You made a scene in front of an important corporate client, packed up half the property, and vanished without a word. Do you have any idea how erratic you're acting?""
I took a slow sip of my wine.
""Erratic?"" I repeated, tasting the syllables. ""Is that the word you're going with, Daniel?""
""She was a guest!"" he shouted, his voice echoing off the vaulted ceilings. ""Her firm is handling the rebranding for the North Hills project! We were up there reviewing proposals because the city office was too chaotic. She brought clothes because she was staying in the guest suite!""
""The guest suite with the unmade bed and dust on the dresser?"" I asked calmly. ""Or the master suite where her toothbrush was resting in the holder beside yours, and her night cream was on the glass shelf next to my perfume?""
May you like
Daniel's mouth opened, then snapped shut. A muscle twitched violently beneath his left eye.
""You left a paper trail, Daniel,"" I said, sliding a single sheet of paper across the quartz counter toward him. ""That's the invoice for the emerald earrings purchased in Charleston three weeks ago. The ones you told me were bought for his mother's seventieth birthday. Funny thing—your mother doesn't have pierced ears.""
