Chapter 5 - My Husband Came Home Smiling
Mark walked through our front door at 8:12 the next morning carrying roses.
Red roses.
My favorite.
“Surprise.”
I stood in the kitchen holding a coffee mug.
For twelve years, that smile had meant home.
That morning, it looked like a mask.
“You said your flight landed at nine.”
“Caught an earlier one.”
He kissed my cheek.
I forced myself not to pull away.
“How was Dallas?”
“Boring.”
He loosened his tie.
“Same investors. Same complaints.”
I smiled.
“You look tired.”
“I barely slept.”
Neither had I.
Mark placed the flowers on the counter.
Then his eyes moved around the room.
He was checking.
I suddenly understood how often he did it.
The office door.
My handbag.
My phone.
The mail.
He wasn't looking casually.
He was inventorying his environment.
“Where were you yesterday?” he asked.
“At work.”
“All day?”
“Mostly.”
“Mostly?”
I shrugged.
“Long lunch.”
His smile remained.
“Where?”
“Why?”
“Can't a husband ask?”
“Thai place near the office.”
I took a sip of coffee.
“You're acting strange.”
His smile tightened.
“So are you.”
There it was.
The first test.
I walked toward him and kissed his cheek.
“Maybe because you disappeared to Dallas without warning.”
He relaxed slightly.
“I told you about the meetings.”
“Six hours before you left.”
“I'm sorry.”
He wrapped his arms around me.
Every muscle in my body wanted to run.
Instead, I rested my head against his chest.
His heart beat normally.
That disturbed me most.
How could a man planning an “incident” for his wife hold her without his pulse changing?
“You know I love you,” he whispered.
I closed my eyes.
“I know.”
The lie came easily.
Maybe I was learning from him.
At 9:30, Mark showered.
I went into the garage and photographed his mileage.
Then I checked the navigation history in his car.
He had deleted it.
Of course.
But the dealership's mobile parking app had sent an automatic receipt to our shared email account.
Tuesday, 6:14 p.m.
Downtown Houston.
Two blocks from Vanessa's condominium.
Another lie.
I forwarded the receipt to Ethan.
By noon, I was at work.
My company handled accounting services for dozens of businesses, including several automotive groups.
Not Mark's dealership.
But I knew the industry.
Mark worked for Sterling Crown Motors, one of Houston's largest luxury dealerships.
A former coworker of mine, Melissa Grant, had become assistant controller there six months earlier.
I called her.
“Laura! How are you?”
“Busy. Can I buy you lunch?”
There was a pause.
“Is this personal or professional?”
“Both.”
We met at a quiet café.
I didn't tell Melissa everything.
Only that I had concerns about Mark's financial activities and needed to know whether anything unusual was happening at Sterling Crown.
Her expression became guarded.
“Laura, I can't give you confidential records.”
“I won't ask you to.”
“Good.”
“Has Mark been moving unusually large amounts through customer accounts?”
Melissa stopped eating.
That was my answer.
“How did you know?”
“I didn't.”
She lowered her voice.
“Three months ago, we had an internal reconciliation problem.”
“How large?”
“About $780,000.”
My stomach dropped.
“Missing?”
“Not exactly. The money came in, then moved between several vehicle deposits and refund accounts before being wired back out.”
“To whom?”
“I can't tell you.”
“Lone Star Holdings?”
Her face went pale.
I leaned back.
“Melissa.”
“You need to leave.”
“What?”
“Right now.”
“Why?”
She looked over my shoulder.
Mark was standing outside the café.
Watching us through the window.
I felt my entire body turn cold.
He entered slowly.
Smiling.
“Small world.”
Melissa stood.
“Mark.”
“Melissa.”
He kissed my temple.
“What are you two discussing?”
“Old accounting gossip,” I said.
“Sounds exciting.”
His eyes stayed on Melissa.
She gathered her purse.
“I need to get back.”
Mark blocked the aisle for half a second.
Just enough to make the point.
Then he stepped aside.
“Of course.”
Melissa left without looking back.
Mark sat opposite me.
“You're full of surprises lately.”
“So are you.”
He smiled.
“What's that supposed to mean?”
“You said you'd be at the dealership.”
“I was.”
“And now you're here.”
“Lunch.”
“With me?”
“With my wife.”
He reached across the table.
I let him hold my hand.
“You know what I've always loved about you?” he asked.
“What?”
“You're curious.”
His thumb moved over my wedding ring.
“But sometimes curiosity creates problems that don't need to exist.”
My heart pounded.
“Is that a warning?”
He laughed.
“God, Laura. No.”
Then he leaned forward.
“I'm saying accountants spend their lives looking for numbers that don't match.”
He squeezed my fingers.
“Sometimes numbers don't match because they're none of your business.”
I pulled my hand away.
His phone buzzed.
He glanced at the screen.
For barely a second, I saw the sender.
VANESSA.
His expression didn't change.
“I have to go.”
He stood.
Then turned back.
“Oh, your father called.”
My blood went cold.
“What did he want?”
“He's decided to sign.”
I stared at him.
“No, he hasn't.”
Mark studied me.
The mistake had already escaped my mouth.
“Interesting.”
“What?”
“You sound very sure.”
I forced myself to shrug.
“Because Dad doesn't change his mind easily.”
Mark smiled again.
“You'd be surprised what people do when they're afraid.”
Then he left.
I called Dad immediately.
No answer.
Again.
No answer.
I grabbed my purse.
Twenty minutes later, I was racing toward his neighborhood while calling Ethan.
“I can't reach him.”
“I'm five minutes away.”
I turned onto Dad's street.
His front door was open.
Mark's paperwork was scattered across the lawn.
I ran inside.
“Dad!”
No answer.
Kitchen.
Empty.
Living room.
Empty.
Then I saw blood near the hallway.
Not much.
Three drops.
Then four.
Leading toward the garage.
The garage door was raised.
Dad's truck was gone.
On the workbench sat his digital recorder.
Beside it was a single sheet of paper.
My father's signature appeared at the bottom.
The house had been transferred to Lone Star Holdings.
May you like
And beneath Dad's signature, written in black ink, was one sentence.
LAURA, DON'T CALL THE POLICE.
