After His Mistress Framed Me, My Husband Lost Everything novel · Chapter 2 of 24

Chapter 2: Locked Out

Deanna goes home for her passport to find the locks changed and the neighbours watching, Gavin offers to open her cards if she apologizes, and the mistress posts a bank statement saying Deanna stole from the company.

My key didn't work in the lobby door.

I tried it twice, then pressed the buzzer for the doorman.

He came out from behind his desk with his hands raised, already apologizing.

"Mrs. Hallstrom, I'm sorry. Mr. Hallstrom called this morning. You're not on the list."

"I live here."

"I know. I've been told you're a guest now, and a guest has to be let up by a resident."

I had fed him cookies every December for six years.

He wouldn't look at me.

"Then call Mr. Hallstrom and tell him a resident wants her laptop and her grandmother's recipe tin," I said.

He called.

The elevator opened a minute later, and Gavin stepped out of it in his shirtsleeves.

He had come home in the middle of a workday to meet me at the door.

I understood then that he had expected me.

"Deanna," he said, in the voice he used on investors. "Thank you for coming. Can we sit?"

"No."

"Then we'll talk here."

There were three neighbors in the lobby now, checking mailboxes slowly.

A woman from the ninth floor held her phone against her chest with the camera showing.

"I changed the locks because I was worried," Gavin said. "You were upset. You'd been sending Kinsley things."

"I never sent her anything."

"I've seen the thread, Deanna. I'm not angry. I'm trying to help you."

He lowered his voice.

"Here's what I can do. You post a short video. You say you're sorry, you say you've been unwell, and Kinsley says she accepts. I open your cards. We go to counseling. It all goes away by Friday."

"Unwell," I said.

"Under stress."

"You want me to tell two million strangers I'm unwell, so that you can have a quieter week."

"I want you safe."

I looked at his face.

I had known it for eight years, and I couldn't find anything in it that was sorry.

"Give me my laptop and the tin," I said.

"They're upstairs. When you've recorded the video, I'll bring them down."

The woman from the ninth floor took a step closer.

"No," I said.

Gavin sighed and glanced at the neighbors.

"You see how she is," he said to them, quietly.

The lobby door buzzed.

Joanna came in with a paper bag from the soup place near her office, her coat open, her hair still perfect.

She went straight to me and put her arm around my waist.

"Don't talk to him," she said. "Come on."

"My things are upstairs."

"I'll get them."

She took her key ring from her pocket and went to the elevator.

Gavin let her.

The doorman pressed the button for her without being asked.

Four minutes later she came back down with her hands empty.

"My key doesn't work either," she said. "He changed the lock on the spare, too."

"I told you, Joanna," Gavin said. "It's for her own good."

Joanna gave him a look I took for contempt.

"You should be ashamed of yourself," she said.

Then she turned me toward the door.

In her car I held the soup on my knees and didn't eat any.

"I'll make a list tonight," Joanna said, pulling out. "Everything of yours. We'll go back with a lawyer."

"Thank you."

"I'm not letting you do this by yourself."

I leaned my head against the cold window.

Her phone, in the cup holder, lit up and lit up again.

She turned it over without looking at it.

Mine buzzed in my lap.

It was a notification from the same account.

Kinsley had posted again, four minutes ago.

There was a photo of a bank statement with a business logo in the corner.

The caption read: "She stole from us too. I didn't want to say it. I only told Gavin because I was scared."

Below it, one line of the statement was circled in red.

A transfer, dated March 14.

The amount was $412,000.

The receiving account was in the name of Deanna Dunleavy Hallstrom.

"Joanna," I said. "Pull over."

She had already put on her signal.

"I've seen it," she said. "I saw it before you did."

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