Chapter 2 - Three secret accounts
Megan arrived forty minutes later.
She took one look at the skillet embedded against the cracked headboard and stopped.
“Tell me she didn’t throw that at you.”
“She missed.”
“That isn’t an answer.”
“No. It isn’t.”
Theresa had retreated to the guest suite after realizing I was no longer responding to her insults.
I showed Megan Patricia’s photographs.
Then the green folder.
She studied Mitchell’s signed letter first.
“Good.”
“Good?”
“Very good that you kept this.”
Then she examined the bank statements.
Those were newer.
I had found the first one accidentally six weeks earlier when Mitchell left a financial envelope beneath several advertising flyers.
The account was solely in his name.
Balance: $84,300.
I had never seen it before.
After that, I began paying attention.
A second statement appeared.
Then a third.
Three separate accounts.
Total balance:
$217,640.
“Where did this money come from?” Megan asked.
“I don’t know.”
Mitchell earned well.
But not that well.
More importantly, I had spent the previous year listening to him complain that we were “barely keeping up.”
That was why I paid more of the mortgage.
Why I covered groceries.
Why I postponed replacing my car.
Why Theresa contributed nothing despite living with us for two years.
Megan pointed toward repeated deposits.
“Lake Geneva Property Services.”
I frowned.
“That’s our cabin.”
“Who owns it?”
“Mitchell and me.”
“Mortgage?”
“Paid off.”
Her eyes sharpened.
“Have you been renting it?”
“No.”
We looked at the affair photographs again.
Maybe Mitchell had.
Patricia was still sitting in our living room.
When we asked, she nodded.
“People come constantly.”
“How constantly?”
“Every weekend during summer. Sometimes weekdays.”
My stomach dropped.
Mitchell had apparently been renting our jointly owned vacation property while telling me he was traveling there for maintenance.
“Do you know how long?”
“At least two years.”
Two years.
Megan leaned back.
“Danielle, this isn’t only infidelity.”
Then the front door opened.
Mitchell walked inside.
Light blue shirt.
Travel bag.
And perfume that definitely did not belong to me.
He stopped when he saw Patricia.
Then Megan.
Then the photographs.
“What’s going on?”
Theresa hurried downstairs.
“Mitchell!”
I watched mother and son exchange a glance.
Too fast.
Too familiar.
Mitchell recovered.
“Danielle, whatever you think—”
I raised one hand.
“No.”
He stopped.
I lifted the first secret bank statement.
Then the second.
Then the third.
His face lost color.
“Where did you get those?”
Megan noticed the wording immediately.
Not what are those?
Where did you get those?
May you like
I smiled.
“Happy birthday to me.”
