Chapter 3 - THE ACCOUNT THAT DIDN’T EXIST
By that evening, I had requested every financial document I was legally entitled to access.
Joint checking.
Joint savings.
Mortgage statements.
Credit cards.
Tax returns.
Retirement contributions.
The ordinary bones of a marriage.
Dad sat across from me at the dining table while Leo slept in a bassinet between us.
“You need rest.”
“I need facts.”
“You gave birth three days ago.”
“I’m aware.”
“You’re sitting on a donut cushion.”
“I’m extremely aware.”
Dad looked at the laptop.
“What have you found?”
“Nothing dramatic.”
“That sounds disappointing.”
“In my profession, boring usually means somebody hasn’t looked in the right place.”
I pulled up a transfer history.
“See this?”
“Five thousand dollars.”
“Every month.”
“To RMI Consulting.”
“Yes.”
“What’s that?”
“I don’t know.”
“You’ve never heard of it?”
“No.”
“Could be legitimate.”
“Could be.”
I clicked another file.
“But our tax returns don’t list consulting expenses.”
Dad leaned closer.
“Personal account?”
“Coming from Rowan’s salary account before he transfers money into our joint account.”
“So you didn’t see it.”
“Not unless I reconciled his pay statements.”
“And you never did.”
“I trusted him.”
Dad went quiet.
I looked at him.
“Don’t.”
“I didn’t say anything.”
“Your face did.”
“My face is old. It does things.”
Despite myself, I laughed.
Leo stirred.
Dad immediately stood.
“I’ve got him.”
“You don’t have to keep—”
“I missed thirty years of opportunities to be useful.”
He lifted Leo gently.
“Let me have this one.”
That stopped me.
Dad had been present financially after Mom died.
Emotionally was another story.
He paid for school.
Sent birthday gifts.
Covered medical bills.
But after taking Sterling Capital public, he had spent most of my teenage years chasing deals across continents while I learned not to need him.
Maybe that was why Rowan’s early attention had felt like oxygen.
He texted every morning.
Called every night.
Remembered little things.
Until slowly, after marriage, he didn’t.
Dad rocked Leo.
“Your mother would’ve loved him.”
I looked at the screen.
“She would’ve hated Rowan.”
Dad smiled sadly.
“She would’ve seen through him faster than I did.”
“You saw through him.”
“I saw things I didn’t like.”
“And handled it badly.”
“Yes.”
I turned.
“Why did you dislike him?”
Dad hesitated.
“Because he asked about money without asking about money.”
“What does that mean?”
“He wanted to know where you went to school, who paid, whether you had loans, whether your mother left property.”
“He was making conversation.”
“Maybe.”
“You think he suspected?”
“Not who I was.”
Dad shifted Leo.
“But I think he knew you came from more than you told him.”
My stomach tightened.
The doorbell rang.
Dad and I exchanged a look.
It was Selina.
Of course it was.
I opened the door but didn’t invite her in.
She wore cream slacks, pearls, and the new watch Rowan had bought her.
“You look tired.”
“I had a baby.”
“Yes. Rowan told me.”
“How thoughtful.”
She sighed.
“Phoebe, I didn’t come to fight.”
“Then this will be brief.”
Her smile tightened.
“I came to see my grandson.”
“You left his birth to chance.”
“That’s unfair.”
“You told Rowan women have been giving birth for thousands of years.”
“I was trying to calm him down.”
“You laughed.”
Her eyes shifted.
“You were listening?”
“I was on the phone.”
She touched the watch.
“You’re being very emotional.”
There it was again.
I leaned against the doorway.
“Rowan used the same word.”
“Because it’s true.”
“No. Because it’s useful.”
Her expression cooled.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means whenever I ask a question you don’t like, suddenly I’m emotional.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Good.”
I smiled.
“Then explain RMI Consulting.”
The blood drained from her face.
Only for a moment.
But long enough.
“What?”
I watched her carefully.
“Interesting.”
“What is?”
“You recognized the name.”
“No, I didn’t.”
“You reacted.”
“I reacted because you’re interrogating me at your front door.”
“Who owns RMI?”
“I have no idea.”
She turned.
“Tell Rowan I tried.”
“Selina.”
She stopped.
I looked at her watch.
“Beautiful gift.”
Her hand covered it instinctively.
“Thank you.”
“Did Rowan pay cash?”
She turned around slowly.
“What?”
“I’m curious.”
“Ask your husband.”
“I did.”
“And?”
“He left.”
She stared at me.
Then she smiled.
Not warmly.
Almost triumphantly.
“Men leave women who make home feel like an investigation.”
I felt the insult.
But I didn’t take the bait.
“Maybe.”
I glanced at her wrist.
“Or men leave when someone gets close to the books.”
She said nothing.
Then she walked away.
Dad appeared behind me.
“She knows.”
“Yes.”
“What now?”
I opened the laptop again.
“Now we find out why.”
The first real break came two hours later.
RMI Consulting was registered in Delaware.
The public filing gave almost nothing.
But the mailing address was familiar.
I had seen it on an old Christmas card.
I pulled open a drawer.
Found the envelope.
Compared them.
Same suite.
Same building.
Dad leaned over my shoulder.
“What is it?”
May you like
I whispered the answer.
“Selina’s accountant.”
