I wanted to tell her everything, but my throat tightened. “Just… family stuff.”
She squeezed my hand. “Whatever it is, don’t go through it alone.”
The moment she disappeared down the jet bridge, my phone rang.
“Harper,” Marianne said sharply. “I listened. Do not confront him. Do not warn him. Tell me exactly what you’ve signed in the past six months.”
My mind jumped to those “routine” documents Gavin slid across the kitchen counter—tabs marked, sticky notes placed like he was doing me a favor.
“I signed paperwork for his LLC,” I said. “And a refinance last fall.”
Marianne exhaled. “Okay. Here’s the plan. Go home. Act normal. Find copies of everything. If you can’t, photograph them. Check your email for DocuSign confirmations.”
“And if he’s already moved money?” My voice cracked.
“We’ll find out. But your recording proves intent.” She paused. “Do you have separate accounts?”
“Not anymore,” I admitted. “He said it would ‘simplify things.’”
“Then we move now,” she said. “Open a new account today—your name only. Transfer what’s legally yours. Freeze your credit. Then we prepare emergency filings to protect assets.”
My legs felt weak. “He’ll notice.”
“Let him,” Marianne said. “Just don’t tip him off until we lock this down.”
I drove home steady on the outside, unraveling inside. The house looked the same—white columns, tidy lawn, the wind chime he bought when we moved in.
Inside, his laptop sat open on the desk.
Gavin was careless when he thought he’d already won.
I clicked the trackpad—and my stomach dropped.
A folder labeled HARPERSIGN sat on the desktop. Inside were scanned documents bearing my signature. Another file read: DIVORCE TIMELINE.
At the top, a date circled in red.
Tomorrow.
The document read like a business launch, not a marriage ending: Transfer funds. Change passwords. Serve papers. Lock shared accounts. Move mistress into condo (temporary).
A condo.
So that was his escape plan.
I photographed everything and sent it to Marianne. My brain split—half panicking, half calculating.
The garage door rumbled.
I closed the laptop exactly as I found it and went to the kitchen, chopping onions I didn’t need just to steady my hands. Gavin walked in like nothing was wrong.
“Hey, babe,” he said, kissing my cheek. “How was the airport?”
I didn’t flinch. “Fine. Tessa’s flight was on time.”
He studied me. “You okay? You seem quiet.”
I smiled lightly. “Just tired.”
He nodded, satisfied. “Good. Big day tomorrow.”
“I know,” I said softly, meeting his eyes. “So do I.”
For a second, suspicion flickered across his face—then his phone buzzed. He smirked and typed a reply.
Leave a Comment