The Papers In The Drawer
Adrian called again twenty minutes later.
This time, I answered.
“Where are you?” he demanded.
“Safe.”
“That is not an answer.”
“It is the only one you are getting.”
He exhaled sharply. “Claire, you embarrassed me in front of my entire office.”
“You betrayed me in the life we built together. Those are different things.”
He went quiet.
Then he said, “We need to talk about the house.”
Not our marriage.
Not my heart.
The house.
That was when I asked, “What is Silverline Advisory?”
The silence on the phone told me more than his answer ever could.
Finally, he said, “Who told you that name?”
Not what is that.
Not I don’t know.
Who told you?
A cold feeling moved through me.
“What did you do, Adrian?”
His voice dropped. “Do not talk to HR again.”
I ended the call.
Maren grabbed her keys.
“We’re going to your house,” she said. “You’re collecting every document before he does.”
At the house, we searched his office.
Tax records.
Bank papers.
Insurance files.
Then, in the back of his desk drawer, inside a folder labeled Home Repairs, I found bank statements for Silverline Advisory.
My name was listed as an authorized contact.
And beneath it was a signature that looked almost like mine.
May you like
Almost.
But I had not signed it.
