The newest recording on the drive finally loaded, and I pressed play.
For the first two seconds, all I saw was my kitchen counter, the edge of the refrigerator, and the back of one dining chair.
Then Emily walked into frame.
She was wearing the same navy sweatshirt I had seen her in two days earlier, her hair tied up, her phone in one hand.
Rebecca followed her into the kitchen.
I recognized the dress Rebecca was wearing immediately because I had complimented it before leaving town for two days to help my brother with a repair job.
That was when I understood the video had not been recorded that morning.
Whatever I was about to watch had been happening before Noah ever stopped me in that hotel corridor.
Emily turned toward Rebecca.
The recording had sound.
“You need to tell him yourself,” Emily said.
Rebecca folded her arms.
“There is nothing to tell.”
“You moved the money.”
My stomach tightened.
Rebecca’s face changed, not dramatically, but enough that I stopped breathing for a second.
She stepped closer to Emily.
“You have been looking through things that don’t concern you.”
“They concern my dad if they’re his accounts.”
I paused the video.
His accounts.
I pulled up the folder containing the bank statements and started opening them one after another.
Rebecca and I had created a joint account for wedding expenses six months earlier, and because I trusted her, I rarely checked individual transactions.
She handled deposits, vendor payments, and most of the scheduling while I continued working.
The statements showed transfers I had never noticed.
Some were small enough to blend into normal wedding costs.
Others were not.
Over several months, money had been moving from the wedding account into another account I did not recognize.
There were enough transactions that this was not a mistake or one bad decision.
