“Are you sitting down?” she asked.
“Yes.”
“We reviewed Maxine’s college trust.”
My hand tightened around the phone.
Joshua and I had opened that account when Maxine was a baby. I remembered holding her in the bank lobby, wrapped in a yellow blanket, while Joshua signed the papers. He had kissed the top of her head and promised she would never have to worry about tuition.
“What about it?” I asked.
“There should be considerably more money in the account.”
My heart began pounding.
“How much is missing?”
“Nearly three hundred thousand dollars.”
I stopped breathing.
“No,” I said. “Joshua would never touch her money.”
But even as the words left my mouth, I knew I didn’t believe them.
Abigail continued gently. “The withdrawals were transferred into the same hidden accounts connected to Cheyenne.”
I pressed my hand against my lips.
An affair was a betrayal of our marriage. Hiding assets was a betrayal of the law. But taking from our daughter’s future to finance a secret life was something else entirely.
It wasn’t weakness.
It was a choice.
That evening, Joshua came home carrying takeout containers from one of Maxine’s favorite restaurants.
He set them on the counter and smiled at me.
“Everything will be over soon,” he said.
I watched him unpack dinner as if he were still the dependable father he wanted us to see.
“Yes,” I replied. “It will.”
Two days later, we arrived at the mediation building downtown.
Joshua wore a tailored gray suit. He walked with the relaxed confidence of a man expecting an easy signature.
Near the elevators stood a polished woman with sleek hair, an expensive handbag, and a phone held too tightly in her hand.
I recognized her before Joshua said her name.
Cheyenne.
She pretended not to look at us.
Before we entered the conference room, Joshua touched my arm.
“Whatever happens today, we need to stay respectful for Maxine.”
I looked at the man who had taken three hundred thousand dollars from her future.
“Of course,” I said.
Then I walked through the doors carrying a folder filled with the truth.
PART THREE: THE ROOM WHERE HE LOST CONTROL
The mediation room was on the twelfth floor of a downtown office building. The walls were cream, the coffee machine shone beneath soft lights, and abstract paintings hung in perfect rows.
Everything about the room had been chosen to create calm.
