Chapter 4
I stared at the bank statement until the numbers blurred.
Twenty thousand dollars.
Transferred from Harold and Diane's savings into an account belonging only to Karen.
Not ours.
Hers.
“Why would she tell you Dad needed money?”
Harold looked ashamed.
“She said he had debts.”
“He doesn't.”
“She said he'd borrowed against his house.”
“He owns that house outright.”
“I know.”
My voice rose.
“You know now?”
Several people in the diner looked over.
I lowered my voice.
“Why didn't you call me?”
Harold rubbed both hands over his face.
“Karen said you were embarrassed.”
I laughed bitterly.
“That seems to be her favorite explanation.”
“She told us you didn't want anyone knowing how much Jack was costing you.”
“He costs me almost nothing.”
Harold nodded.
“I understand.”
“No, you don't.”
I pushed the papers away.
“I buy his groceries sometimes. I pay for dinner. I replaced his water heater last winter because he helped me for half my life.”
I leaned forward.
“He has a pension. Social Security. Savings. He's not helpless.”
Harold looked miserable.
“I believed my daughter.”
That sentence quieted me.
Of course he had.
I would have believed Emily too.
That was the ugliest part.
Karen had used trust.
“What happened to the money?”
“I don't know.”
I looked at the statement again.
There were withdrawals.
Four thousand.
Three thousand.
Five thousand.
Several transfers to another account.
“Did Diane know?”
“Yes.”
“And she believed Karen too?”
He nodded.
“What changed?”
“Yesterday.”
His eyes met mine.
“When you told me Karen had used us as the reason Jack wasn't invited, something didn't feel right.”
He paused.
“She has been saying things about Jack for years.”
My stomach twisted.
“What things?”
“That he borrowed money.”
“He never did.”
“That he expected you to pay his bills.”
“False.”
“That he was becoming forgetful.”
I froze.
“What?”
Harold nodded slowly.
“She told Diane last summer that Jack was showing signs of dementia.”
My chair scraped backward.
“What the hell?”
Several heads turned again.
I didn't care.
Dad forgot where he put his glasses.
He sometimes repeated a story.
He was seventy-four.
But dementia?
No.
His doctor had recently told him he was doing well.
“Why would she say that?”
Harold stared at the table.
“I don't know.”
I knew one thing.
I wasn't confronting Karen yet.
Not until I understood everything.
I left the diner and drove directly to Dad's.
Emily opened the door.
She had slept on the sofa.
Dad was making eggs.
The smell of coffee filled the house.
For a second, the normal scene nearly broke me.
Dad looked over.
“You look terrible.”
“Thanks.”
“I mean worse than usual.”
Emily smiled faintly.
I couldn't.
“Dad, I need to ask you something.”
He turned off the stove.
“What?”
“Has Karen ever asked you for money?”
His expression changed.
Very slightly.
My stomach dropped.
“Dad.”
He sighed.
“Once.”
“When?”
“Maybe eight months ago.”
“How much?”
He looked toward Emily.
“Grandpa.”
She stepped closer.
“This affects us too.”
Dad finally answered.
“Ten thousand.”
I felt dizzy.
“Did you give it to her?”
“No.”
Relief hit me.
Then disappeared.
“What did she say it was for?”
“She said you were having business trouble.”
I own a small heating and cooling company.
It wasn't huge.
But it was profitable.
We had no crisis.
No secret debt.
Nothing.
“What exactly did she say?”
Dad leaned against the counter.
“She said you were too proud to ask me yourself. She said payroll was tight.”
I stared at him.
“And you didn't call me?”
“I started to.”
“What stopped you?”
“She told me it would humiliate you.”
Of course.
Always embarrassment.
Always shame.
Karen used everyone's love for me to keep them silent.
Dad continued.
“I told her I couldn't give her that much without talking to you.”
“What happened?”
“She became upset.”
“How upset?”
“She said I didn't trust her.”
I closed my eyes.
“Anything else?”
Dad hesitated.
Then he nodded.
“She said if I really cared about your marriage, I would stop making things difficult for her.”
Emily looked furious.
“What does that even mean?”
Dad gave a tired smile.
“I never figured that out.”
I did.
Karen wanted control.
And Dad didn't fit inside it.
I told them about Harold's money.
Dad sat down slowly.
Emily covered her mouth.
“Mom stole twenty thousand dollars?”
“We don't know that yet.”
“Yes, we do,” she said.
“Emily.”
“Dad, she lied to Grandpa. She lied to Grandma and Grandpa Harper. She hid an account.”
Her eyes filled.
“What else do we need?”
I didn't have an answer.
I drove home around noon.
Karen's car was gone.
For once, that helped.
I went upstairs.
I hated what I was about to do.
After twenty-six years of marriage, opening my wife's drawers felt like breaking something sacred.
Then I remembered she had already broken it.
I searched her desk.
Nothing.
Closet.
Nothing.
Then I remembered an old lockbox beneath our bed.
We used to keep passports inside.
It was gone.
I found it behind boxes in the guest-room closet.
The combination was still our wedding date.
That hurt more than it should have.
Inside were passports.
Birth certificates.
Insurance documents.
And a second phone.
I stared at it.
The battery was dead.
I plugged it in.
While it charged, I found envelopes beneath it.
Credit card statements.
A hotel receipt from Indianapolis.
Jewelry purchases.
Cash advances.
Then a printed email.
I read the first line.
Karen,
You promised Rick would never find out.
My heart stopped.
I sat on the floor.
The sender's name was Daniel Mercer.
I knew him.
He had been Karen's supervisor three years earlier.
I kept reading.
The email wasn't romantic.
That should have been a relief.
It wasn't.
They were discussing money.
A property investment.
A failed property investment.
Apparently Karen and Daniel had put money into a house-flipping deal eighteen months earlier.
The project collapsed.
Debt remained.
And Karen owed Daniel more than thirty thousand dollars.
Suddenly everything made sense.
The secret account.
Harold's twenty thousand.
Her request for ten thousand from Dad.
Except one thing.
Why blame Dad?
Then I read further.
Daniel had written:
If your husband starts asking questions, keep using the father situation. You said he already believes Jack needs help sometimes.
I stared at the sentence.
My hands shook.
Karen hadn't only lied about my father.
She had made him the cover story for her financial mess.
The front door opened downstairs.
I heard Karen call my name.
I folded the email.
Then I heard footsteps coming up the stairs.
“Rick?”
I stood.
The bedroom door opened.
Karen saw the lockbox.
Then she saw the paper in my hand.
All the color left her face.
For a long moment, neither of us spoke.
Finally, I asked one question.
“How much money did you lose?”
Karen whispered my name.
I held up the email.
“How much?”
Her eyes filled with panic.
“Rick, I can explain.”
“That wasn't my question.”
She swallowed.
“About sixty thousand.”
I stared at her.
We had spent twenty-six years building our life.
And my wife had risked sixty thousand dollars without telling me.
Then used my father as camouflage.
May you like
I looked at the woman standing in front of me.
For the first time, I didn't know her at all.
