“What is the money?” I asked.
Emily was quiet for a moment.
“I don’t know all of it.”
“But you know something.”
“I noticed a statement on your desk when I was bringing Noah over last week. Rebecca told me it was wedding money. The numbers didn’t make sense, so I checked the older statements you keep in the drawer.”
I pictured the drawer.
I had told Emily years ago where I kept financial paperwork in case something happened to me.
“There were transfers,” she continued. “Then I found screenshots on the tablet you and Rebecca use for wedding planning.”
“What screenshots?”
“Open the folder called MESSAGES.”
I did.
There were conversations between Rebecca and someone whose name I didn’t recognize.
Most of the messages were ordinary enough at first glance.
Then I saw references to money she owed, payments that were late, and repeated assurances that things would be settled after the wedding.
One message said, “Once we’re married, I’ll have room to move.”
Another said, “I just need to get through the ceremony without his daughter turning this into a crisis.”
I read that one twice.
Emily spoke quietly through the phone.
“She knew I had figured out there was a problem.”
“Why didn’t you call me when you first found it?”
“I tried talking to you before.”
There it was again.
Not anger.
History.
I remembered Emily asking why Rebecca had started handling more of my accounts.
I remembered her questioning why I was discussing selling the house only months after saying I planned to keep it.
I remembered Rebecca telling me Emily was having trouble accepting change.
And I remembered choosing the explanation that required the least from me.
