Chapter 3 - The Monday Transfer
By Sunday evening, Grant had stopped defending Paige.
He had not yet started accusing her.
There is a painful distance between those two places.
I watched my son live inside it.
We met at my house because Grant didn’t want Paige knowing everything Celeste had discovered.
That fact alone told me their marriage had already changed.
Celeste brought a forensic accountant named Nora Ellis.
Nora was fifty-something, soft-spoken, and possessed the unsettling habit of becoming quieter whenever she discovered something important.
She spent three hours examining records.
At 9:18 p.m., she looked up.
“The $125,000 transfer is going to Parker Lane.”
Paige’s company.
“For what?” Grant asked.
“Brand redevelopment consulting.”
Grant stared at her.
“We aren’t redeveloping the brand.”
“I assumed not.”
“Cancel it.”
Nora shook her head.
“Not yet.”
Grant looked furious.
“Why?”
“Because whoever scheduled it may be watching.”
She wanted the bank to flag the transfer without immediately revealing that it had been stopped.
Then she wanted to follow the authorization chain.
Grant agreed.
At 11:00, everyone left except my son.
He sat at my kitchen table.
The house was quiet.
Finally he said, “I’m sorry.”
I knew exactly what he meant.
But I made him say it.
“For what?”
His eyes filled.
“For yesterday.”
I waited.
“For telling you to leave.”
I nodded.
“And?”
He looked down.
“For all the times before yesterday.”
There it was.
The apology I had wanted for years.
And somehow hearing it hurt.
“I kept telling myself I was keeping peace,” he said.
“You were.”
He looked hopeful.
“For Paige.”
The hope disappeared.
“You kept peace for Paige because you knew I would forgive you.”
Grant covered his face.
I reached across the table.
He took my hand.
“I don’t know how I let it get this bad.”
“One compromise at a time.”
He nodded.
Then he told me something I hadn’t known.
Paige had been telling him for two years that I criticized her privately.
She claimed I questioned her parenting plans even though they had no children yet.
She said I mocked Diane.
She told him I had threatened to remove him from my will if he spent Thanksgiving with her family.
I had done none of those things.
“Why didn’t you ask me?”
He looked ashamed.
“Because every time I asked Paige for specifics, she cried.”
I almost smiled.
“That’s not an answer.”
“I know.”
Monday arrived.
The transfer was initiated at 9:03.
Bank security froze it.
At 9:11, someone logged into Northstar’s legacy system.
At 9:14, an attempt was made to alter the supporting invoice.
At 9:16, Nora traced the login.
Grant’s house.
Grant went white.
Paige was home.
He called her.
No answer.
Again.
No answer.
Then Celeste’s phone rang.
Reception.
“Paige is downstairs.”
Grant looked toward the door.
Seconds later, Paige entered.
She saw me.
Her expression hardened.
“What is she doing here?”
Grant stood.
“My mother owns almost a third of this company.”
Paige blinked.
Apparently she hadn’t expected that answer.
“I need to talk to you privately.”
“No.”
“Grant.”
“Did you schedule a $125,000 payment to Parker Lane?”
Her expression didn’t change.
“Yes.”
The room went silent.
Grant stared.
“For what?”
“Work.”
“What work?”
“Strategy.”
“What strategy?”
Paige crossed her arms.
“You’re interrogating me because she told you to.”
I watched Grant.
A week earlier that sentence would have worked.
Not anymore.
“My mother didn’t schedule the payment.”
Paige turned toward me.
“You’ve always wanted this.”
I remained seated.
“Wanted what?”
“Our marriage destroyed.”
“No, Paige. I wanted my son happy.”
“You never accepted me.”
“I gave you access to my spa membership.”
She flinched.
I continued.
“You turned one massage into twenty-three appointments.”
“My mother needed them.”
“Then your mother could pay for them.”
Diane arrived ten minutes later.
Nobody had invited her.
That interested Nora.
“How did you know we were meeting?” she asked.
Diane looked at Paige.
Paige looked at Grant.
Nobody answered.
Then Diane began crying.
Not dramatically.
Quietly.
“I told you this would happen.”
Paige snapped toward her.
“Mom.”
“I told you.”
“Stop talking.”
Grant stared at his mother-in-law.
“Told her what?”
Diane shook her head.
Paige grabbed her handbag.
“We’re leaving.”
Grant stepped between her and the door.
“No.”
Paige froze.
It may have been the first time he had ever said that word to her without softening it.
“You don’t control me.”
“No. But you’re not taking company documents.”
Everyone looked at Paige’s hand.
She was holding a folder.
Nora took it.
Inside were copies of invoices.
And underneath them was something nobody expected.
A property brochure.
A luxury house outside Scottsdale.
Across the front someone had handwritten:
CLOSE MAY 15 — CASH PURCHASE.
Price:
$1.18 million.
Grant looked at Paige.
“Where were you getting a million dollars?”
She said nothing.
Diane suddenly whispered:
“Tell him.”
Paige spun around.
“Shut up.”
Diane began shaking.
“Tell him before somebody else does.”
Grant looked from one woman to the other.
“Tell me what?”
Diane wiped her eyes.
“The money wasn’t supposed to come from Northstar.”
I felt Nora straighten beside me.
Grant whispered:
“Then where?”
Diane looked directly at me.
“From Marian.”
And suddenly every forged email carrying my name made sense in a much more frightening way.
Because Paige hadn’t merely been stealing money.
May you like
She had been practicing how to become me.
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