They Excluded Me From the Family, So I Built a New One novel · Chapter 2 of 24

Chapter 2: Where the Money Went

The attorney traces ten of Desmond's transfers to Carl's boatyard account, asks what Susannah has signed lately, and tells her to be on her own porch first; the neighbor calls to say Desmond is selling the cottage.

The attorney's office was on the eleventh floor, and I was there by four.

She was a woman in her fifties with short gray hair and reading glasses pushed up into it.

She didn't say she was sorry.

She said, "Show me," and held out her hand for the laptop.

I put the chat on her desk first and the bank statements beside it.

She read the chat for ten minutes without a word.

Then she turned to the statements and ran a pen down the transfers.

"Fourteen payments to Rosalie Lockridge," she said.

"She's Rosalie Pierce now. She remarried."

"Then why does the routing number on this one belong to a business?"

She tapped the page.

I leaned over.

Ten of the fourteen went to an account named Pierce Marine LLC.

"Carl," I said. "Her husband. He owns a boatyard in Maine."

"Did your husband ever mention it?"

"Never. He said the money was for a client."

"A client who sent him a receipt?"

"I asked for receipts, and he said he'd bring them."

She wrote something on a yellow pad and underlined it twice.

"All right. Here is what you can do and what you shouldn't."

I sat up.

"You can end the marriage today. You don't have to be afraid of him, you just need to be careful."

"I'm not afraid of him."

"Good. You're angry, which is more useful. Don't tell him anything yet. Not by text, not by phone, not at the front door."

"He thinks I'm at the cottage."

"Then let him think it. Where do you actually want to be on Friday at four?"

"On my own porch," I said.

She almost smiled.

"What have you signed in the last year?"

"Nothing important. Cards, a tax form."

"Think harder."

I looked at the window and made myself go back through the months.

"Last April," I said. "Desmond brought me an insurance renewal for the cottage, at the kitchen table in Cambridge."

"You read it?"

"I was making dinner. He put three pages by the stove and held the pen."

"Did you keep a copy?"

"He said he'd file it."

She put the pen down.

"I'll ask the insurer for the original this afternoon. Until then, this is what I know. The cottage is yours alone. Nothing he does can change that without your real signature, and I don't think that's what you gave him."

"But he's been acting as if it's his."

"Has he?"

I thought of the chat.

"He called it their summer house in front of Libby's whole dorm group, once."

"Then someone may have said so to a stranger who matters. People who lie about a house usually have a reason."

My phone buzzed on the desk, and we both looked at it.

It was Kenzie.

The text said: "Aunt Sue!! Can't wait for tomorrow. I'm bringing you the biggest hug."

A second one followed right after.

"Dad says you've done SO much. We love you."

I didn't reply.

"Do you want to be home when the photographer comes?" the attorney asked.

"I want to be on the property before anyone else arrives."

"Then go tonight. I'll draft the notice that lists who is no longer welcome. Don't hand it out until I say."

"Who gets it?"

"Anyone who walks up the drive on Friday expecting the front door to open."

She slid a business card across.

"Call me before you talk to anyone in that chat. Including your niece."

I flinched.

"Especially your niece," she said, more gently. "She might be the most useful person in that group, or the most dangerous."

I picked up the card.

"Eat something before you drive. A meal, not a granola bar."

I laughed, and it was the first time in two days.

I was in the elevator when my phone rang again.

The number was the widower who lived next to the cottage, a retired sea captain who left me tomatoes every August.

He never called.

"Susannah," he said. His voice was low and stiff. "I'm sorry to bother you."

"What's wrong?"

"A man in a blazer was in your house an hour ago with Desmond. They had a tape measure."

I pressed my hand flat against the elevator wall.

"They measured every room," he said. "And the man took pictures of the deck."

"Did Desmond say why?"

"He told me he's selling the place."

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