“You think this is funny?”
“No. But I suspect the fraud investigators reviewing our accounts tomorrow will find very little humor in the situation.”
His spine went rigid.
“What are you talking about?”
“The seventy-nine thousand dollars you stole from the restricted moving account.”
Howard moved closer, trying to listen.
Grant laughed too sharply. “That money was for family transition.”
“No,” I said. “It was theft.”
The word struck the group like electricity. People like them could survive many sins, but criminal language terrified them because it implied records, police, and public humiliation.
“You’re accusing your husband of stealing?” Grant asked.
“I am informing you that your access to my accounts, my home, and my corporate entities has been permanently revoked.”
Paige’s voice shrieked in the background. “Revoked? What does that mean?”
Grant’s voice cracked. “You moved my things?”
“You’ll find the inventory list taped to the gate pillar. Everything is in storage. Climate-controlled. First month paid.”
“You can’t lock me out of my own house!”
I stepped to the glass railing, looking over the city below.
“You spent so many years pretending to be the architect of my success that you began believing your own press releases.”
Howard snatched the phone from him.
“Listen here, young lady,” he barked.
“You raised a son who treated marriage like a hostile acquisition, Howard. This conversation is over.”
Marilyn began yelling. Paige started sobbing. Grant grabbed the phone back.
“Natalie, please. Don’t do this in front of them.”
There it was.
Not regret. Not shame.
Optics.
I tapped the security app.
