Richard sat across from me and arranged his expression into the calm, disappointed look he used with nervous clients.
“That isn’t what you think.”
“It’s your company’s operating account.”
“I moved the tuition money into an education reserve so I could manage the deadlines.”
“Show me the reserve.”
“I don’t have access to everything from my phone.”
“Your laptop is upstairs.”
His jaw tightened. “I’m not going to be interrogated in my own kitchen.”
“It’s my kitchen too.”
His eyes moved across the cabinets, hardwood floor, and breakfast nook I had renovated six years before meeting him.
The house had belonged to me long before Richard did.
He stood abruptly. “You’re making a serious mistake.”
“No. I’m finally reading the statements.”
At 10:17, Sloane called.
“My card isn’t working.”
No hello. No question about my mother.
“I know.”
“What do you mean, you know?”
“I removed you as an authorized user.”
“Why?”
“Because your father made it clear I’m not your parent.”
“That has nothing to do with my card.”
“It has everything to do with my card.”
Her voice dropped. “I’m at an outlet mall. I already bought lunch, and now I can’t pay for my clothes.”
“Then don’t buy them.”
“You can’t do this without warning.”
“I warned you last night.”
She hung up.
