“Yeah,” Marcus said. “And I’ve got her credit card activity. She checked into the Fairmont under her maiden name—Margaret Harrison. Room 312. Booked it three days ago for five nights.”
My mouth went dry. “Why would she—”
“She’s not alone,” Marcus cut in.
I heard keyboard clicks in the background, the sound of someone turning suspicion into proof.
“Security footage shows her entering the hotel with a man. Early forties, well-dressed. They went up together.”
My grip tightened on the phone. “Who is he?”
“Working on it,” Marcus said. “But there’s more. Your wife has been withdrawing cash for six months. Small amounts to avoid alarms. Adds up to forty grand.”
Forty thousand dollars, quietly peeled away from our life like skin.
My heart hammered. “Send me the footage.”
A moment later my phone buzzed with an image.
Margaret, hair perfect, walking into the Fairmont lobby with a man beside her. He wore a suit. He looked familiar in a way that made the air turn brittle.
I stared at the photo until my eyes found the man’s face clearly.
“Oh God,” I whispered.
“What?” Marcus demanded.
“That’s my doctor,” I said, the words tasting unreal. “Dr. Andrew Prescott. My family physician.”