Now she wondered if every piece of it had been staged from the start.
“Cheyenne works directly with me at the firm,” Joshua said, too fast, pulling back. “She’s just checking on the paperwork.”
“Why does she care whether I’ve signed already?” Gretchen asked flatly.
Joshua said nothing, avoiding her eyes.
Gretchen yanked her hand back.
“What did you actually come here for tonight?” she asked, cold.
“It’s really not what you’re thinking,” Joshua said quickly.
She laughed once, dry and humorless. Every man caught out seemed to reach for that same tired line.
Joshua retreated to the guest room without a real apology. Gretchen lay awake until dawn, replaying every detail she’d chosen to overlook all year — his push for a fast settlement, his refusal to bring in appraisers, his insistence that reviewing the bank statements would only stress her out.
At six a.m. she called her supervisor and canceled her shift.
She waited until Joshua left for St. Paul, then walked into his home office. On the desk sat the thick gray folder holding their draft divorce agreement. She checked the listed assets against old tax returns.
Two major investment accounts were missing entirely.
