“I don’t believe it is.”
“Why would a lender accept it?”
“Because the application included supporting letters and financial statements.”
“Signed by whom?”
“One appears to carry the name of a managing partner. I’m trying to verify whether the signature is genuine.”
My office suddenly felt smaller.
Daniel’s demand for a fast, private divorce no longer sounded like impatience.
It sounded like a deadline.
“Send everything to my attorney,” I said.
“You have one?”
“I will within the hour.”
Daniel had moved into a downtown hotel by the time I left my office. Paige was gone too. A note rested on the kitchen island.
We’ll talk when things are calmer.
No signature.
I photographed it and placed it in a folder.
Then I called attorney Rachel Kim, who had represented Northline during a contract dispute the previous year. She did not handle divorces, but she referred me to Helena Ortiz, a family-law attorney known for complex financial cases.
Helena listened while I described the kitchen, Paige, the debt, and Mina’s email.
“Do not sign anything,” she said.
“I won’t.”
“Do not agree to a shared mediator.”
“I won’t.”
“Preserve every message, tax document, account statement, and business record. Change your personal passwords. Do not access his private accounts, but protect your own.”
Her voice was calm, precise, and free of false comfort.
“Belle, people who demand a fast settlement usually have a reason. We will find out what his is.”
That afternoon, Daniel texted.
I want this to be respectful. Paige and I did not intend to hurt you.
I read it once.
Then another message appeared.
We should meet with a mediator this week. There’s no reason to involve aggressive lawyers.
I forwarded both to Helena.
She replied with six words.
Do not answer until we speak.
I followed her advice.
At four thirty, I picked Sophie up from school.
Daniel had not told her anything. She climbed into the car holding a paper sunflower she made in art class and asked whether Dad would be home for dinner.
“He’s staying somewhere else tonight,” I said.
“Because of work?”
“Because we need some space.”
She studied my face in the rearview mirror.
“Are you sad?”
“Yes.”
“Are you mad?”
“A little.”
She nodded as though this combination made sense.
“Can we still have tacos?”
“We can still have tacos.”
That evening, we ate at the kitchen table instead of the island. Sophie described her spelling quiz while I listened with both hands wrapped around a glass of water.
Daniel had often said I was too emotional to handle difficult decisions.
He confused restraint with weakness because he had never seen what it cost me to remain steady.
After Sophie fell asleep, my phone rang.
Paige’s name appeared on the screen.
I almost let it go unanswered.
Then I remembered her expression in the kitchen. Shame, yes, but something else too. Something that looked like fear.
I answered.
“Belle, Daniel doesn’t know I found the storage unit.”
I stood slowly.
“What storage unit?”
Traffic moved behind her voice. She sounded as if she were calling from inside a parked car.
“A few months ago, he asked me to help move boxes. He said they were old client records.”
“Where?”
“Near the highway. West of downtown.”
“Why are you telling me now?”
“Because I went back yesterday.”
My fingers tightened around the phone.
“Why?”
“He asked me to find a contract. I opened the wrong box.”
“What was inside?”
Paige lowered her voice.
“Documents. Photographs. Printed emails. Copies of financial forms.”
“Whose?”
“Some were his. Some had names I didn’t recognize.”
She paused.
“Several had your name.”
I walked into my office and closed the door.
“Start at the beginning.”
Paige explained that Daniel had rented unit 417 nearly a year earlier. He told her he needed storage because he was closing an old business project. She believed him.