Chapter 2 - The House of Cards
The drive home was silent.
A thick, heavy blanket.
Patricia hummed.
A tune of entitlement.
Daniel gripped the wheel.
Knuckles white.
He was waiting.
To lecture me.
To "fix" the problem.
I looked out the window.
The trees blurred.
I wasn't Claire the wife.
I was the investigator.
I reached the house.
It looked perfect.
A facade.
We walked inside.
Patricia headed to the kitchen.
Ready to feast.
Daniel turned to me.
“We need to talk.”
“About your behavior.”
I walked to the office.
I opened the cabinet.
The drawer slid out.
A thick folder.
Documents of deceit.
I pulled it out.
Daniel followed.
“What is that?”
I dropped it on the desk.
It landed with a thud.
Paper and ink.
The weight of six years.
“Evidence,” I said.
“Of what?”
“Of the truth.”
He laughed.
Dismissive.
“You’re hysterical.”
“Look at the pages.”
He looked.
His smile flickered.
Records of diverted funds.
Fake consulting fees.
Patricia’s "pension."
It was a siphon.
A slow drain.
Every year.
Every month.
“You’ve been stealing?”
He whispered it.
“You have been.”
I corrected him.
“I only watched.”
“I have the proofs.”
“The bank transfers.”
“The secret accounts.”
His face paled.
He touched the paper.
Trembling.
“You can’t do this.”
“We’re married.”
“Not for long,” I said.
I opened the drawer.
A lawyer’s letter.
Formal.
Sharp.
Divorce papers.
And a freezing order.
He gasped.
“You filed this?”
“Three days ago.”
He looked at the door.
Then back at me.
“Mom!” he screamed.
Patricia didn't move.
She stood at the counter.
A jar of caviar.
Unopened.
May you like
Empty of meaning.
The game was over.
