Chapter 2 - The Plan That Began in High School
My sister Rachel opened her apartment door wearing paint-stained sweatpants and holding a screwdriver.
“Emily?”
I stepped inside without answering.
She took one look at my face and dropped the screwdriver onto the entry table.
“What happened?”
I placed the gift bag on her kitchen counter.
Rachel glanced at the box inside it.
“Is that Matthew’s anniversary present?”
“I heard him talking about me.”
Her expression sharpened. “Talking to whom?”
“I don’t know.”
I repeated every sentence I had heard.
Rachel listened without interrupting. When I reached the part about signing papers, she pulled out a chair.
“Sit down.”
“I don’t want to sit down.”
“You’re shaking.”
“I’m angry.”
“You can be angry in a chair.”
I sat.
Rachel poured water into a glass and pushed it toward me.
“Did you confront him?”
“No.”
“Good.”
I looked up. “Good?”
“You heard part of a conversation. It sounds terrible, but walking into that room while you were panicking might have made things worse.”
“He said our entire relationship was a trap.”
“He said you walked into a trap in high school. Those are not necessarily the same thing.”
“He mentioned prom, college, and the proposal.”
Rachel hesitated.
That hesitation frightened me more than agreement would have.
“You think I’m right.”
“I think you need facts.”
My phone vibrated inside my purse. I had turned it back on during the drive, and Matthew had already called eleven times.
Rachel picked it up before I could.
“Don’t answer,” I said.
“I’m checking the messages.”
She read silently.
Please call me.
I know you were at the house. Your anniversary gift is on the floor near the door.
My stomach dropped.
I had been so frightened that I had left the bag behind?
Rachel continued reading.
Emily, whatever you heard, please let me explain.
Then another message arrived.
Do not sign anything or speak to anyone until we talk. This is not what you think.
Rachel slowly lowered the phone.
“That last message did not help him.”
“No.”
“Do you know what papers he meant?”
I shook my head.
Our mortgage was in both names. Our bank accounts were mostly shared, although we each kept a small personal account. Matthew ran a construction and restoration company with his older brother, Owen. I worked as a graphic designer.
We were comfortable, but not wealthy.
At least, I had never believed we were wealthy.
“What if he’s in trouble?” Rachel asked. “Business debt? Lawsuit? Something he wants to move into your name?”
“Then why start planning it in high school?”
“I don’t know.”
Neither did I.
That evening, Matthew came to Rachel’s apartment.
He knocked once, then again.
“Emily, I know you’re in there.”
Rachel looked through the peephole.
“He’s alone.”
“I’m not ready.”
She opened the door but blocked the entrance with her body.
Matthew looked as if he had driven across the city without stopping. His tie was gone, his sleeves were rolled up, and his hair was disordered from repeatedly pushing his hand through it.
“Is she safe?” he asked.
“She’s safe.”
“I need to speak to her.”
“She doesn’t want to speak to you.”
His jaw tightened. “Rachel, please.”
I remained around the corner, close enough to hear him.
“What papers?” Rachel asked.
Matthew went still.
“So she told you.”
“She told me enough.”
“I can explain everything to Emily.”
“Explain it to me first.”
“I can’t.”
Rachel laughed once without humor. “You cannot arrive here after talking about trapping my sister and refuse to explain.”
“It’s complicated.”
“No, Matthew. Complicated is forgetting your anniversary. Complicated is hiding a credit card. Planning something since high school and saying she’ll sign without reading is alarming.”
“I know how it sounded.”
“Then tell me what it meant.”
A long silence followed.
Finally, Matthew said, “It’s something I promised her a long time ago.”
I stepped into view.
Matthew’s eyes immediately found mine.
Relief crossed his face, followed by pain when he saw I would not approach him.
“What did you promise me?” I asked.
“Emily—”
“What are the papers?”
He glanced at Rachel.
“Talk to me,” I said. “Not her.”
Matthew entered only when Rachel stepped aside. He stopped several feet away from me, respecting the distance I had created.
“The documents aren’t dangerous.”
“That is not an answer.”
“They transfer ownership of a property.”
“To whom?”
“To you.”
“From whom?”
He hesitated again.
“Matthew.”
“From a company.”
“What company?”
“Maple Street Holdings.”
I had never heard the name.
“Do you own it?”
“Partly.”
“Why would your company transfer property to me?”
“I wanted to tell you on our anniversary.”
“You said I would sign without reading.”
His face tightened. “That was a stupid joke.”
“With whom?”
“My attorney.”
“Your attorney thinks tricking your wife into signing legal documents is funny?”
“He knew I wasn’t actually going to let you sign without understanding.”
“You also said I couldn’t back out.”
“Because I knew you’d refuse the gift.”
“What gift requires property documents?”
Matthew opened his mouth, then stopped.
I saw the moment he decided not to tell me.
That decision broke something inside me.
“You still care more about your surprise than about what this is doing to me.”
“That isn’t true.”
“Then explain everything.”
“I can’t explain one part without revealing all of it.”
“Then reveal it.”
He looked toward the floor.
“I need forty-eight hours.”
I stared at him.
“You’ve had years.”
“Emily, there are other people involved. Contracts. Employees. A public announcement. If I tell you now, I could damage something that matters to both of us.”
“You keep saying ‘us,’ but I didn’t know any of this existed.”
“I did it for you.”
“That is what people say when they make decisions for someone without permission.”
He flinched.
“Come home,” he said quietly. “You can sleep in the guest room. I’ll leave if you want. Just don’t disappear.”
“I’m staying here tonight.”
“Then at least promise me you won’t contact Owen.”
The request came too quickly.
“Why would I contact your brother?”
Matthew’s silence gave me the answer.
Owen knew something.
“Emily, please.”
“Go home.”
His eyes remained on mine.
“Do you still trust me at all?”
I thought of the boy who had held my hand at the dentist when we were nine.
The teenager who had waited in the rain after my first college interview.
The husband who kissed my forehead every morning before work.
“I don’t know,” I admitted.
Matthew nodded slowly.
Then he removed his wedding ring.
For one terrible second, I thought he was ending our marriage.
Instead, he placed it on Rachel’s entry table.
“I’m leaving this here,” he said. “Because I don’t want you thinking I went home and stopped being your husband.”
He walked out.
Rachel closed the door behind him.
Neither of us spoke until the elevator doors opened and carried him away.
Then my phone vibrated.
May you like
The message came from Owen.
I heard you finally discovered Matthew’s little project. Before you sign anything, you need to know where the money really came from.
