There it was. Confirmation of what I’d already known. Some part of me had hoped I was wrong. That maybe this really was just about Richard finding himself or whatever midlife crisis garbage he’d fed me.
But no. There was another woman. Of course there was.
“Mom?” Jennifer’s voice cracked. “What are you going to do?”
Good question. What was I going to do?
“I’m going to be smart about this,” I said, surprised by the steel in my own voice. “Jennifer, I need you to do something for me. Don’t tell your father we’ve talked. Don’t tell him anything. Can you do that?”
“Of course, but…”
“And I need the name of a good lawyer. Not a divorce attorney. Not yet. Someone who specializes in financial investigations. Can you find that for me?”
“Financial investigations? Mom, what are you planning?”
I looked at the divorce papers spread across my kitchen table, at the house I’d made into a home, at the life I’d built only to have it stolen from under me.
“I’m planning,” I said slowly, “to find out exactly what your father has been hiding. Because, Jennifer, in 43 years of marriage, I’ve learned one thing.”
“When a man suddenly wants to leave with everything, it’s because he’s afraid of something. And I’m going to find out what.”
After we hung up, I sat in the quiet kitchen and let myself feel it. The fear. The anger. The grief.
I gave myself exactly 10 minutes to cry. Then I dried my eyes, made a pot of strong coffee, and got to work.
Jennifer called back within two hours with a name. David Chen, a forensic accountant who’d helped her friend during a messy business partnership dissolution.
“He’s expensive, Mom,” she warned, “but he’s good.”
I used money from my personal account, the one Richard had let me keep for household expenses, to pay for the consultation.
Mr. Chen’s office was in downtown Cincinnati, a sleek high-rise that made me feel small and old. But when he shook my hand, his eyes were kind.
“Mrs. Patterson,” he said, gesturing to a chair, “tell me everything.”
I did. The sudden divorce demand, the papers giving Richard everything, my suspicions about another woman. When I mentioned the financial discrepancies I’d noticed, he leaned forward, interested.
“Do you have access to bank statements? Credit card records?”
“I manage our household account,” I said. “But Richard has several accounts I don’t have direct access to. I just see the transfers when he moves money around.”
“That’s enough to start.” Mr. Chen’s smile was sharp. “Mrs. Patterson, before we go any further, I need to be honest with you.”
“If your husband is hiding assets or engaging in financial misconduct, finding proof will take time, and it may get uncomfortable. He’ll notice you’re looking. Are you prepared for that?”
Was I? I thought about Richard’s cold eyes across the dinner table, his dismissive tone, the way he’d already written me out of his life.
“Yes,” I said. “I’m prepared.”
Over the next week, I became a spy in my own home. I photographed every document I could find in Richard’s study: bank statements, investment records, receipts.
I created a new email account Richard didn’t know about and forwarded everything to Mr. Chen. I felt like a criminal, sneaking around my own house, but the alternative was accepting defeat. And I wasn’t ready to do that.
Richard noticed the change. How could he not? I’d stopped asking about his day, stopped trying to make conversation. I was polite but distant, playing the role of the defeated wife.
“Have you thought about the papers?” he asked one evening, his tone carefully casual.
“I’m still considering my options,” I replied.
His jaw tightened. “Margaret, dragging this out won’t change anything. I’ve been very generous.”
“Have you?” The words slipped out before I could stop them.
Richard’s eyes narrowed. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing,” I said quickly. “I just want to make sure I understand everything before I sign.”
“There’s nothing to understand. It’s straightforward.”
But there was something new in his voice now. Weariness. He was wondering what I was up to. Good. Let him wonder.
Two days later, Mr. Chen called. “Mrs. Patterson, I need you to come to my office. We need to talk.”
The drive downtown felt endless. When I arrived, Mr. Chen’s expression was grave.
“I found something,” he said, spreading documents across his desk. “Several somethings, actually. Mrs. Patterson, has your husband ever mentioned a company called Meridian Consulting?”
I frowned. “No, why?”
“Because he owns it. Registered it three years ago. According to these records, Meridian Consulting has been receiving payments from your husband’s firm. Payments that look suspiciously like kickbacks for steering clients to preferred vendors.”
My stomach dropped. “That’s illegal.”
“Very. And there’s more. Your husband has been systematically moving money out of your joint assets into accounts under Meridian’s name. Over the past year alone, he’s transferred nearly two hundred thousand dollars.”