The distinction was so grotesque I almost admired it.
“When did it come up?”
“May.”
“When did you sleep with him?”
“July.”
“So you moved our money into a private account in May, applied for an apartment in August, accepted seventy-five hundred dollars from him, and tried to leverage our house for his project.”
“You are making it sound criminal.”
“I’m describing the order.”
“You don’t understand commercial investment.”
“I understand enough to know I never agreed to it.”
“I wasn’t going to finalize anything without you.”
“Then why is there a hard inquiry on my credit?”
She had no answer.
My phone buzzed on the table.
11:57 p.m.
Adrian.
I did not pick it up.
Vanessa saw the name.
Her face changed again.
“What does he want?”
“I don’t know.”
“You told him to come here?”
“No.”
My answer was technically honest in spirit if not complete. I had told him not to come, then agreed he could bring the folder after he insisted on returning documents that belonged to me.
Vanessa grabbed her purse.
“I’m not doing this.”
“Where are you going?”
“Upstairs.”
“No.”
She turned sharply.
“Excuse me?”
“I’m not stopping you from going upstairs. I’m saying this conversation isn’t finished.”
“You don’t control when I talk.”
“That’s true.”
I walked past her toward the front door.
Then I turned the deadbolt.
Click.
Vanessa froze.
“What are you doing?”
“Opening the door.”
“For who?”
Before I answered, the first knock came.
Slow.
Deliberate.
Vanessa’s eyes widened.
The second knock followed.
Her breathing stopped.
Then the third.
Three quiet knocks.
No pounding.
No shouting.
Whoever stood outside knew there was no need to announce himself more loudly.
I looked at Vanessa.
The terror on her face told me she knew exactly who it was.