I thought of the forged signature.
“Of course.”
Mark watched me carefully.
He thought my quietness meant defeat.
That was his third mistake.
Two days later, James and I took our records to separate attorneys.
We did not coordinate legal strategy beyond sharing documents we each lawfully possessed.
Neither of us wanted revenge disguised as recklessness.
We wanted facts preserved.
The advice was simple.
Do not sign.
Do not warn them what has been found.
Protect access to personal funds and documents.
Document everything.
The two hundred thousand dollars never became mine.
James kept it.
The offer had done what he intended: it proved he was willing to shoulder the cost of the delay he was requesting.
By New Year’s Eve, Mark believed he had stabilized me.
He became careless.
That night, while dressing for a party we never reached, he left his laptop open in the bedroom.
A notification appeared.
Jessica.
She had sent only four words.
Did Anna sign yet?
My pulse slowed.
Not sped.
Slowed.
There was a document beside the computer.
A refinancing agreement Mark had presented two days earlier as a routine way to “simplify everything before we decided what came next.”
I had refused to sign it.
Now I understood why Jessica cared.
I took a photograph of the notification without opening anything else.
Then I walked downstairs.
Mark was pouring champagne.
“You look beautiful,” he said.
“Thanks.”
He handed me a glass.
“To a better year.”
I looked at the bubbles rising between us.
“For both of us?”
He smiled.
“For everyone.”
At 11:40, the doorbell rang.
Mark frowned.
“Are we expecting someone?”
“No.”
I opened the door.
James stood outside.
Beside him was Jessica.
Her face had gone white.
Mark nearly dropped his glass.
For one suspended second, all four of us stared at each other.
Jessica turned on James.
“You said we were going home.”
“We are,” he replied.
“After we clear something up.”
