Not dramatically.
First around his mouth, then along his cheeks.
“Where did you get this?”
I said nothing.
He looked at the handwriting.
His handwriting.
“Paige gave this to you.”
I still did not answer.
“That storage unit contains confidential client records.”
“Then perhaps it should not contain a written plan to misrepresent our finances.”
He pushed the page back toward me.
“You do not understand what you’re looking at.”
“I understand every line.”
“You broke into private property.”
“No.”
The certainty in my voice stopped him.
“You should speak to your attorney before making accusations.”
He leaned back.
For the first time in our marriage, Daniel looked at me as though he had entered a meeting without knowing who held the stronger file.
His phone rang.
He checked the screen.
One word escaped him.
“Counsel.”
He answered.
“Daniel Hartman.”
His voice returned to its professional register, but his free hand tightened around the edge of the table.
I could not hear every word from the caller. I heard Calder & Finch. Immediate suspension. Document review. Outside obligations.
Daniel tried to interrupt.
“I can explain the Mercer statements.”
The person continued.
He stood and walked toward the window.
“No, that is not necessary. I can provide corrected documents.”
Another silence.
His shoulders lowered.
“What does terminated mean in this context?”
I looked at the flowers on the island.
One white petal had fallen onto the granite.
Daniel ended the call without saying goodbye.
He remained facing the window for several seconds.
Then he turned.
“We can fix this.”
The irony was almost painful.
Hours earlier, he believed I was a woman without work, leverage, or options.
Now he wanted partnership.
“What do you mean by we?”
“You are still my wife.”
“You asked for a divorce yesterday.”
“That was before this became complicated.”
“No. It was already complicated. You simply thought I would never see it.”
He walked back to the table.
“Belle, listen to me. The Mercer documents were projections. Everyone uses aggressive projections.”
“Did you have an ownership interest?”
“It was expected.”
“Was it authorized?”
He looked away.
“Daniel.”
“I had verbal assurances.”
“From whom?”
“That is not relevant.”
“It is relevant to the people who relied on the paperwork.”
His jaw tightened.
“You’re enjoying this.”
“No.”
I meant it.
I did not feel victorious.
I felt as though I were standing in the remains of a house I had not realized was burning.
“You think because you found a few notes and financial statements, you control what happens now.”
“I don’t need to control everything.”
I gathered the page and returned it to the folder.
“I only need to stop you from controlling me.”
He picked up his coat.
“You’ve changed.”
“No. You stopped looking closely enough to know me.”
Before leaving, he glanced toward the office door.
“How much does Northline make?”
There it was.