Liam whispered the woman’s name before he seemed to realize he’d spoken at all.
I watched his face instead of the page.
That was the advantage of knowing the numbers before confronting the people behind them.
Documents could tell me where money went, when accounts opened, whose signature appeared where it shouldn’t.
But sometimes the most useful evidence was what happened when someone believed you knew more than you actually did.
I hadn’t accused Liam of knowing the woman receiving packages at the condo.
I hadn’t even said her name aloud.
He had done that for me.
Eleanor looked from him to me.
“Who is that?”
Liam’s eyes stayed fixed on the first page.
“Nobody.”
I almost laughed.
Nobody apparently received regular deliveries at a condo supposedly being maintained as a family investment property.
Nobody apparently lived at an address generating HOA charges and taxes Eleanor expected me to pay.
And nobody’s presence there apparently terrified my husband more than the phrase forged signature.
I turned the page.
“Then this should be easy,” I said.
“Explain the property.”
Eleanor found her voice first.
“It’s a family investment.
I’ve already told you that.”
“Whose family?”
Her mouth tightened.
I slid one of the LLC registration pages across the island.
The print was small, but Eleanor didn’t need to read it.
She recognized the document immediately.
Liam did too.
For months I had been hearing that the property belonged to his mother’s side of the family.
It was always discussed vaguely, usually when Eleanor needed money.
A repair here.
A tax shortage there.
A temporary payment that would supposedly be returned after refinancing.
But the paperwork told a more complicated story.
The LLC was tied to Liam and Eleanor.
My financial information had been attached later as support for obligations connected to the condo.
And the signature approving that use of my information was not mine.
I tapped the signature line.
“When did I sign this?”
Neither answered.
“I’ll make it easier.
Was it before or after the two of you decided I would cover the payments?”
Eleanor lifted her chin.
“You’re Liam’s wife.
Married people share financial responsibilities.”
“Married people don’t forge each other’s signatures.”
“Nobody forged anything,” Liam snapped.
The old aggression flashed back for half a second.
Then his eyes went toward the ceiling camera and his voice dropped again.
I had never seen control return to a man’s body so quickly.
I turned another page.
Bank transfers.
The amounts weren’t enormous individually.
That was probably why they had been easy to hide.
Maintenance.
Reimbursement.
