“I can’t,” she whispered.
Then she turned and walked back to Jason.
He placed a hand on the small of her back, gentle enough for the room, firm enough for her to understand.
I watched them leave through the opposite door, and for a moment I was not looking at my husband and his mistress.
I was looking at a pattern.
One I knew too well.
In the consultation room, Daniel closed the door and pulled out his phone.
“You heard what she said,” he murmured.
“Yes.”
“Do you know his mother’s maiden name?”
“Whitaker,” I said. “Evelyn Rose Whitaker before she married Jason’s father.”
Daniel typed it into his notes. “Any storage companies he used?”
I thought carefully. Jason owned many things through shell companies and family trusts. He had treated ownership like a maze, not because he needed privacy, but because he enjoyed being the only person with the map.
