“Right.”
Mara sat.
“How do you feel?”
“Efficient.”
“That is not a feeling.”
“It is today.”
She handed him noodles.
“Eat.”
He did.
Mara looked toward the empty chair Vivian usually used.
“Do you know who the men are?”
Ethan stopped chewing.
“No.”
“Do you want to?”
“No.”
Mara watched him.
“Yes.”
He sighed.
“Yes.”
“Don’t investigate.”
“I wasn’t planning to.”
“Good.”
He looked at her.
“You say that like you think I might follow her.”
“No.”
“I think you might turn this into a research project.”
“That sounds more plausible.”
“Don’t.”
“I won’t.”
The universe apparently found that funny.
The first piece arrived without Ethan looking for it.
On day three, his accountant called.
Not the company accountant.
Personal.
“Did you authorize a forty-two-thousand-dollar transfer from your joint brokerage cash account?”
Ethan stood up.
“What?”
The accountant repeated.
Ethan opened the account.
$42,000 had moved six days earlier.
Before Vivian left.
To an account ending in 3187.
He did not recognize it.
“Can you tell where?”
“Not from my side.”
“I’ll call the bank.”
Ethan’s hands went cold.
He had been so focused on the marriage that finances had barely entered his mind.
Rebecca had already warned him not to move or hide marital assets.
Apparently somebody had moved first.
He called the bank.
The destination was an individual account in Vivian’s name.
Legal.
The joint account allowed either owner to transfer.
Still significant.
Ethan called Rebecca.
“She moved forty-two thousand.”
“When?”
“Six days before she left.”
“Document it.”
“She can do that?”
“She already did.”
“I mean legally.”
“Joint account access is one question.”
“Whether moving money in anticipation of separation affects distribution is another.”
“Do not retaliate.”
“I wasn’t going to.”
“Good.”
“Get statements.”
He did.
The transfer was not the only thing.
Three months earlier: $8,500.
Five weeks later: $12,000.
Then smaller transfers returned.
Then left again.
Patterns.
Ethan opened older statements.
He found hotel charges on a business card Vivian occasionally used for family travel.
The Corwin.
Not this week.
April.
May.
June.
Each time, nights Ethan had been traveling.
His stomach turned.
He closed the laptop.
Then reopened it.
Not because he wanted pain.
Because paperwork had consequences now.
He sent everything to Rebecca.
Her reply was short.
Preserve. Do not confront by text.