“Evelyn shouldn’t have repeated a private conversation.”
“She’s my sister.”
“She’s always disliked me.”
“That isn’t an answer.”
“Fine. We’ll talk tonight.”
“Just you.”
“Jessi—”
“Just you.”
He hesitated.
Then said, “Fine.”
The call ended.
I placed the phone on the table.
Evelyn looked up from the other side of the kitchen.
“You okay?”
“No.”
That was the first time in years I had answered the question without trying to make the truth more convenient.
“No,” I repeated. “But I think I will be.”
Phoebe arrived shortly after ten with a laptop, two coffees, and a woman named Anika Patel.
Anika was a forensic accountant with the unnerving habit of becoming more cheerful whenever she discovered something complicated.
Within forty minutes, my kitchen table had transformed into a temporary command center.
Statements.
Authorization lists.
Vendor records.
Travel expenses.
Household accounts.
I held Lily while they worked.
“This isn’t catastrophic,” Anika said eventually.
“That sounded almost disappointing.”
She smiled.
“I like puzzles, not disasters.”
“So what did you find?”
“Your primary business accounts are clean. Personal investments are clean. Household payroll is clean.”
“And the travel account?”
Anika rotated her laptop.
“There are Miami hotel charges, airfare upgrades, restaurant reservations, and a spa deposit.”
Evelyn stared at the screen.
“His mother booked a spa?”
Anika pointed.
“Three appointments.”
I shook my head.
“How much?”
Phoebe interrupted.
“Not relevant.”
I looked at her.
“You’re telling me spending isn’t relevant?”
“I’m telling you emotional outrage over a facial is not the issue we’re solving.”
Anika looked impressed.
“I like her.”
“So do I,” I said. “Occasionally.”
Phoebe ignored us.
“What matters is whether Luca had authorization.”
“He did,” Anika said. “Jessi added him as an approved traveler eighteen months ago.”
I remembered.
A trip to Italy.
His card had been delayed.
