He took calls in the garage.
Sometimes envelopes appeared in his desk and vanished a day later.
I had learned not to ask.
Questions made him angry.
‘What kind of business?’
Moretti’s expression told me he would not answer.
I looked at the photograph again.
‘You’re following him.’
‘We were watching someone else.
Your husband became relevant.’
‘Relevant to what?’
‘A problem.’
The calmness of the answer was worse than menace.
I pushed the papers away.
‘I don’t want to be part of your problem.’
‘You already are.’
My heart began pounding again.
Moretti saw it and leaned back, giving me space.
‘Listen carefully.
I am not asking you for anything.’
‘Then why are you showing me this?’
‘Because David is looking for you, and because he believes you took something from him.’
I stared at him.
‘I took my clothes and my money.’
‘Your money?’
‘Cash I saved.’
‘How much?’
I hesitated.
‘A little over four thousand dollars.’
Something in his face changed.
‘That isn’t what he’s looking for.’
I thought about my carry-on.
Two changes of clothes.
Toiletries.
A cheap paperback.
An old photograph of my mother.
My identification.
The envelope of cash.
Nothing else.
Then I remembered the folder.
I had almost forgotten it.
The night before I escaped, I had been looking for my birth certificate in the locked bottom drawer of David’s desk.
I found a slim blue folder instead.
It contained copies of accounts, signatures, and several pages stamped with numbers I did not understand.
I had taken the entire folder because one page contained my name.
At the time, I thought it might prove David had been hiding money from me.
I had shoved it into the lining of my carry-on and concentrated on surviving the next twenty-four hours.
Moretti watched the realization spread across my face.
‘You did take something.’
‘I didn’t know.’
‘What?’
I looked toward the bag beneath the seat.
His gaze followed mine.
Neither of us moved for a moment.
Then he said, ‘Don’t take it out here.’
A chill traveled through me.
