A week later, he returned with shopping bags, confidence, and the smell of expensive cologne.
He walked inside like he had accomplished something admirable, set his suitcase down, and lifted his wrist again.
“Thank you for the card,” he repeated with a wider smile.
I smiled back, because he still believed he had taken something from me.
Just as I was about to respond, the doorbell rang.
Kevin frowned, annoyed, and the bell rang again with a longer press that sounded deliberate.
A voice came from outside, firm and controlled.
“Police department, Mr. Stone, please open the door.”
Kevin looked at me, then at the door, trying to decide what to do.
“What did you do?” he asked quietly.
“Open the door,” I replied calmly.
The bell rang again, and he adjusted his jacket before opening it.
Two officers stood there with a plainclothes investigator named Peter Ross, who held his identification calmly.
“Mr. Kevin Stone, we need to speak with you regarding unauthorized financial activity and misuse of funds,” he said clearly.
Kevin laughed shortly, trying to stay confident.
“She is my wife, this is private,” he replied.
“No,” I said firmly, “it is my account, my business, and he did not have permission.”