“Our firm handled financial compliance consulting for them.”
I knew Ethan worked in corporate accounting.
I had never cared much about the details.
“One of the hospital accounts connected to those invoices belonged to Prescott Health,” he continued. “Caroline Prescott’s oncology unit was among the departments listed.”
My stomach turned.
“You think something happened to her because of missing supplies?”
“No.”
His answer came immediately.
“I have no evidence of that. None. And that’s exactly why I told Sam not to make that connection when he accused me of implying it.”
“Then why does any of this matter now?”
“Because the irregularities continued after Caroline died.”
I sat slowly on the bed.
“So?”
“So someone was using patient records and legitimate hospital orders to hide money.”
I looked toward Lily.
Even asleep, she seemed to anchor the room.
“What kind of money?”
“I don’t know yet.”
“Millions?”
“Possibly.”
“And you’ve known this for three years?”
“No. I suspected something three years ago. Then Sam convinced me the accounting errors had been corrected.”
“But they hadn’t.”
“No.”
“When did you discover that?”
“Six months ago.”
Six months.
I thought backward.
Six months ago Ethan had begun coming home later.
Four months ago he changed passwords.
Three months ago he became secretive with his phone.
Two months ago the photographs with Rebecca appeared.
One month ago he moved into the guest room.
Then the locks.
The account.
The lawyers.
My voice became barely audible.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
Another silence.
“Because somebody accessed our home network.”
I felt my heart beat once, hard.
“What?”
“I found remote login records on my office laptop.”
“You brought confidential work home?”
“I made mistakes.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
“Yes. I did.”
“And somebody got into it?”
“I think so.”
The room seemed different now.
The ordinary furniture.
The cheap framed print above the desk.
My suitcase on the floor.
Nothing had changed.
Yet I suddenly felt as though I were standing inside a much larger story than the one I thought I had been living.
“Was that why you changed the locks?”
“Yes.”
I closed my eyes.
“You told me there were burglaries.”
“I couldn’t tell whether someone had physically entered the house.”
“So you lied.”
“Yes.”
The simplicity of the answer hurt more than an excuse would have.
“And the bank account?”
“That money isn’t gone.”
