Chapter 5 - THE BIRTHDAY GIFT WASN’T A GIFT
I did not call Rowan’s employer.
Not yet.
A forensic accountant who moves too quickly destroys evidence.
Instead, I did what I had spent ten years being paid to do.
I mapped transactions.
Dates.
Amounts.
Relationships.
Patterns.
RMI Consulting received regular payments from Rowan.
It also received irregular transfers from companies that did business with Mercer & Lowe Development.
Several shared a common feature.
Rowan had approved their invoices.
I sat at the dining table with Dad while Leo slept upstairs.
“Kickbacks?”
“Possibly.”
“Can you prove it?”
“No.”
“Then what can you prove?”
“That money moved.”
Dad nodded.
“Good distinction.”
“Thank you, Professor.”
“I’m enjoying watching you work.”
“You realize this is my marriage collapsing.”
His smile faded.
“I know.”
I leaned back.
“Sorry.”
“No. You’re allowed to be angry at every man in this room.”
“You’re the only one here.”
“Efficient.”
The doorbell rang.
This time it was Rowan.
He stood outside holding flowers.
I looked at them.
“Really?”
“What?”
“Flowers?”
“I’m trying.”
“Try answering questions.”
He glanced past me.
“Is your father here?”
“Yes.”
“Can we speak privately?”
“No.”
“Phoebe.”
“You had privacy for nine months. It produced fake income.”
He stepped closer.
“Lower your voice.”
“Why?”
“The neighbors.”
I laughed.
“There it is.”
“What?”
“Your real concern.”
He dropped his hand.
“I’m here because I miss my son.”
“You can see him.”
His face softened.
“And you?”
“I’m not available.”
“Come on.”
“No.”
“I made a mistake.”
“You made a series of decisions.”
“What do you want me to say?”
“The truth.”
“I’ve told you the truth.”
I stared at him.
“Who owns RMI Consulting?”
His eyes flickered.
“I don’t know.”
“Your mother reacted to the name.”
“She reacts to everything.”
“Who is RMI?”
“I don’t know.”
“Then why have you sent them sixty thousand dollars in the last year?”
He went completely still.
There it was.
Fear.
“How did you get that?”
“Our finances are marital records.”
“That account is mine.”
“It funded expenses that affected our household.”
“You went through my private account?”
“I reviewed statements attached to a loan carrying my signature.”
“That’s illegal.”
“No.”
“Phoebe—”
“And your mother’s watch?”
He looked away.
I waited.
“Rowan.”
“What about it?”
“Where did the money come from?”
“My bonus.”
“You didn’t receive a bonus last month.”
He stared at me.
“How would you know that?”
“Your payroll record is in our mortgage file.”
His face tightened.
“Stop digging.”
The sentence was quiet.
Not angry.
Afraid.
Dad appeared at the end of the hallway.
Rowan saw him.
Straightened.
Then changed his tone.
“Mr. Sterling, please tell her this is unhealthy.”
Dad folded his arms.
“You’re asking the wrong Sterling.”
Rowan looked at me.
I stepped closer.
“Why should I stop?”
“Because you don’t understand the situation.”
“Then explain it.”
“I can’t.”
“Won’t.”
“For your own good.”
Dad’s gaze hardened.
I felt something colder.
“Is that a threat?”
“No.”
“Then choose better words.”
Rowan rubbed his face.
“My mother made some investments.”
“With whom?”
“People.”
“What people?”
“Why does it matter?”
“Because you’re paying her shell company.”
“It is not a shell company.”
“So it is hers.”
His eyes widened.
He realized too late.
I said nothing.
Neither did Dad.
Rowan stared at us.
“Fine.”
He lowered his voice.
“RMI is Mom’s.”
“Why are you paying her?”
“She helped us.”
“With what?”
“The house.”
I frowned.
“She didn’t give us money.”
“Not directly.”
“What does that mean?”
Rowan looked trapped.
“Phoebe, please.”
“Talk.”
“She arranged part of the down payment.”
My stomach dropped.
“We paid the down payment from our savings.”
“Most of it.”
“How much?”
“Forty thousand.”
I stood motionless.
Dad spoke.
“Was it a gift?”
Rowan looked at him.
“No.”
“A loan?”
“Not exactly.”
I felt my pulse in my throat.
“What did she want?”
Rowan’s silence answered first.
I stepped closer.
“What did your mother want?”
“She wanted me to help with some vendor introductions.”
“What kind?”
“At work.”
My eyes closed.
Of course.
Money entered from Selina.
Business favors went out through Rowan.
Then payments began cycling back to her company.
The birthday watch suddenly looked less like a gift.
More like profit sharing.
“Who gave her the forty thousand?”
“I don’t know.”
“You expect me to believe that?”
“She handled it.”
“And you took the money.”
“Yes.”
“Then used my name on the refinance.”
“That was Marcus.”
“You benefited.”
“We benefited.”
“No.”
I shook my head.
“You did.”
“That house is yours too.”
“A fraud-funded asset is not a gift.”
He looked at Dad desperately.
“Tell her marriage isn’t an audit.”
Dad’s expression didn’t move.
“No.”
Rowan’s shoulders fell.
I looked at him.
“Was the watch purchased with RMI funds?”
He said nothing.
“Rowan.”
His whisper barely reached me.
“Yes.”
I looked toward the stairs where Leo slept.
A birthday dinner.
A watch.
My labor.
They had seemed like separate insults.
They weren’t.
The dinner had been a celebration.
Not just of Selina turning sixty.
Of money finally moving.
The timing had mattered.
I felt sick.
“What happened Friday?”
Rowan looked at me.
“What?”
“The night I went into labor.”
“Nothing.”
“You stayed at that dinner while your wife was in active labor.”
“I told you—”
“No.”
I stepped closer.
“You stayed because something else happened that night.”
His eyes shifted.
Dad saw it too.
I whispered, “What did you sign?”
Rowan went pale.
May you like
And suddenly, I knew.
My son had been born the same night my husband crossed a line he could never uncross.
