Chapter 2
Daniel’s smile disappeared.
“What does that mean?”
I kept my hands still. “It means I’m tired of explaining.”
“Explaining what?”
“The bruises.”
He laughed. “Those? You walked into a cabinet.”
“And the fractured wrist last winter?”
“You slipped on ice.”
“The cracked rib?”
“You fell in the shower.”
He stepped closer until my back touched the wall.
“You see how easy this is?” he murmured. “There’s always an explanation.”
That was exactly what Detective Ruiz had told me he might do.
Let him build the case himself.
Daniel had always underestimated me because fear had made me quiet. He mistook silence for stupidity.
He did not know I had spent nine years before our marriage working as a forensic accountant.
When he took control of our finances, he assumed I had stopped looking.
I had not.
For months, I had traced transfers from our joint investment account into a consulting company registered to his brother, then into a private account Daniel had never disclosed. Nearly four hundred thousand dollars.
Money he claimed we had lost in the market.
Money he planned to keep after divorcing me.
The abuse had trapped me emotionally.
The fraud gave me leverage.
More importantly, it gave me a trail he could not charm away. Numbers did not care that Daniel smiled at judges, donated at fundraisers, or remembered every neighbor’s birthday. A transfer either happened or it did not. A forged invoice either existed or it did not.
I looked at him. “What about the money?”
His eyes narrowed. “What money?”
“The four hundred thousand dollars you moved through Mercer Advisory.”
For the first time, genuine alarm crossed his face.
Then arrogance covered it.
“You’ve been digging through my accounts?”
“Our accounts.”
“They’re mine.”
“Did your brother earn it too?”
His jaw flexed.
“Evan did what I told him.”
“And the invoices?”
“Fake.”
The word landed cleanly between us.
My pulse thundered.
In the next room, every syllable was being recorded.
Daniel suddenly seemed to realize he had said too much. He grabbed my upper arm.
“You’ve been setting me up.”
“Let go.”
“No.”
His fingers dug into a yellowing bruise.
“Tomorrow you’re calling that lawyer and telling her you’re staying. Then you’re signing the refinancing papers.”
“What refinancing papers?”
“The house.”
My stomach turned.
The house had belonged to my grandmother. Daniel had pressured me for years to put him on the deed. I never had.
Now I understood.
He needed my signature because he could not reach the equity without me.
“You need the money,” I said.
“I need you to stop asking questions.”
“What happens if I don’t?”
His eyes went flat.
He shoved me harder against the wall.
“You already know.”
That tied the threat directly to coercing my signature.
But I wanted one more thing.
I swallowed. “Did you push me down the basement stairs?”
Daniel stared at me.
May you like
Then he leaned close enough for me to smell whiskey.
“I should’ve pushed harder.”
