Chapter 2

Lacey sent me her first message three months prior.

I had just returned a scarf at the mall when my phone buzzed.

An unknown number. A photo attachment.

In the picture, Chase was pan-frying a steak in a cozy apartment kitchen.

He wore a navy blue apron, the sleeves of his dress shirt rolled up to his elbows.

That apron. I picked it out for him at a tiny boutique during our Paris trip. I even asked the clerk to embroider a tiny daisy on the bottom corner. Because that was my name.

A text followed the photo.

"Chase made me dinner! He said he's never cooked for anyone else before."

I stared at the message for a long time.

Then I typed out a reply.

"There's a loose thread on the right pocket of that apron. Cut it off for him."

She didn't reply again that day.

But from then on, Lacey sent me something every single week.

Sometimes it was a video of Chase making her breakfast.

Sometimes a photo of their backs as they held hands while shopping.

Sometimes just a simple text. "Chase said he's taking me to St. Barts this weekend. Wanna come?"

I never responded.

But for every message I received, I returned an extra item the next day.

The night I returned the thirty-ninth item, Lacey sent a voice memo.

Chase's voice came through the speaker, crisp and entirely devoid of warmth.

"That crazy woman has been abnormally quiet lately. Just ignore her. Where could she possibly go? She doesn't even have a job. All she has is a grandmother with dementia. She can't survive without me."

Lacey giggled sweetly. "Then why haven't you divorced her yet, Chase?"

"What's the rush?" Chase drawled lazily. "Wait until I wrap up the Brooklyn project. I still have an investment apartment under her name. I need to transfer the deed back first."

"And after that?"

"After that? I'll tell her to pack her bags and get out. She can go back to her grandma's nursing home and change diapers."

The recording ended with their uninhibited laughter.

I sat on the balcony, holding a cup of cold tea.

The wind howled, whipping my hair around my face.

I set the teacup down and opened my mobile banking app.

That investment apartment he mentioned? I finalized the deed transfer three months ago.

It was completely in my name now.

I handled every joint asset that could be severed. Notarized what needed notarizing. Froze what needed freezing.

He thought I was just a hysterical housewife who threw tantrums and returned gifts.

He had no idea how much homework I did over those six months.

Suddenly, my phone rang.

The caller ID showed an unfamiliar landline number.

"Is this Mrs. Whitmore? I'm calling from Sunnyside Care Center."

My fingers froze.

Sunnyside Care Center?

Grandma lived at The Willows in Westchester. A high-end, nine-thousand-dollar-a-month facility with private aides, regular checkups, and a gorgeous private garden.

My voice instantly tightened. "You have the wrong number. My grandmother isn't at your facility."

"Ma'am, Pearl is indeed a resident here. She was transferred from The Willows three months ago. Your husband, Mr. Chase Whitmore, handled the paperwork."

My blood ran ice cold.

"Three months ago?" My voice trembled uncontrollably. "Who gave him the right? I'm her legal guardian. Why wasn't I notified?"

The caller hesitated. "Mr. Whitmore said he was family. He signed the transfer consent forms, so we just followed protocol..."

"How is my grandmother doing right now?" I cut her off sharply.

Silence hung on the line for two agonizing seconds.

"Ma'am, the reason I'm calling is to inform you that the elderly lady isn't doing too well today. She's been very emotionally unstable this week. She keeps waking up in the middle of the night shouting for people, and this afternoon, she pulled out her IV line..."

"What IV? Is she sick?"

"She caught a cold last month that developed into pneumonia. She spent a few days in the hospital before coming back here."

Grandma had pneumonia. She was hospitalized.

Three months.

And I knew absolutely nothing.

My fingernails bit fiercely into my palms.

"How much does your care center cost a month?"

"...Fifteen hundred."

From nine thousand to fifteen hundred.

I did the math in a split second. A difference of seventy-five hundred dollars a month. Times three months. Twenty-two thousand, five hundred dollars.

The ruby necklace Lacey flaunted last month had a price tag of exactly twenty-two thousand.

I gripped the phone and stood up. My voice was terrifyingly calm. "I'm coming to pick her up right now. Text me the address."

I hung up and rushed into the study to boot up my laptop.

Bank statements.

Chase's card, the one designated for the nursing home fees, indeed stopped transferring money to The Willows three months ago.

Instead, there was a steady stream of transactions pouring into luxury boutiques and high-end apartments.