“Good.”
While I fed Noah upstairs, Dad made calls from the study.
He did not tell me what to do.
He asked permission before each step.
The Maybach could be remotely reported to the valet service as restricted from release to anyone except the registered owner.
My household security codes could be changed because the property belonged to my trust.
Ethan’s access to one joint spending account could be limited to the funds he had personally contributed, while the rest would remain untouched pending legal advice.
Most importantly, Dad’s company could review Ethan’s consulting relationship independently of our marriage.
“I don’t want you firing him because he’s my husband,” I said.
“I won’t.”
“Or because he humiliated me.”
“I won’t.”
“Then why review him?”
Dad turned his laptop toward me.
“Because three months ago, our finance team flagged invoices from him that did not match the work delivered.
I delayed action because I thought confronting him might make things harder for you.”
My stomach tightened.
“What invoices?”
“Hospitality.
Transportation.
Client development.”
He paused.
“Including charges involving your car.”
The room seemed to grow very quiet.
Ethan had told me his success was accelerating.
He bought expensive jackets, hosted dinners, upgraded memberships, and spoke constantly about deals that were about to close.
I had assumed the money came from his business.
Dad opened a folder on the desk.
The documents were not dramatic.
That made them worse.
Dates.
Amounts.
Expense descriptions.
Requests for reimbursement.
Several listed transportation services on nights when Ethan had taken my Maybach.
One reimbursement described a hired executive vehicle even though he had driven mine.
Another claimed a client dinner on an evening I remembered clearly because Ethan had told me he was visiting Brenda.
“Did you know?” Dad asked.
“No.”
“Then we don’t assume anything else.
We verify.”
That sentence became the rule for the rest of the night.
No revenge.
No guesses.
Verify.
At Oceanic Prime, Ethan was learning the same lesson from a less comfortable direction.
Sarah’s livestream abruptly ended.
Then my regular phone began vibrating.
Ethan.
I let it ring.
He called again.
Then Brenda.
Then Sarah.
A text from Ethan appeared.
The valet won’t release the car.
Fix this.
