“What do you mean, you know?”
“I asked for a review.”
He stared at me.
“Why?”
“Because I noticed some expenses that needed explanation.”
His expression tightened.
“Claire, those are business decisions.”
“Our business.”
He blinked.
I placed the original ownership agreement on the table.
“Forty percent of it is mine.”
For several seconds, he said nothing.
Then he gave a dismissive little laugh.
“You haven’t been involved in operations for years.”
“That doesn’t erase my ownership.”
He looked at the agreement.
“What exactly are you trying to do?”
I opened the folder beside my tea.
“I’m trying to understand where forty-two thousand six hundred dollars went.”
I placed the Cedar Row transaction summary in front of him.
His expression changed immediately.
Then I added the invoices.
“Nine monthly payments and two additional advances.”
He looked up.
“That’s legitimate consulting work.”
“Then there should be work product, contracts, and a clear business purpose for the payments.”
“There is.”
“Good. The accountant can review it.”
He pushed back his chair.
“Why are you acting like this?”
I waited.
He leaned forward.
“Claire, you’re making something out of nothing.”
I reached into the folder and removed one more piece of paper.
The restaurant receipt.
I placed it beside the invoices.
Daniel stared at it.
“What’s that?”
“Valentine’s Day.”
He looked up.
I continued.
“You told me you were too busy to have dinner with me.”
His face became still.
“Claire—”
“Then you walked into The Linden Room with Natalie Mercer.”
He said nothing.
“I watched you hold her arm. I watched you laugh with her.”
He lowered his eyes.
“And I heard you tell the manager not to seat your wife anywhere near you.”
For the first time in eleven years, Daniel had no immediate explanation.
No charming smile.
No gentle reminder that I was overreacting.
Just silence.
Finally, he said, “It wasn’t supposed to happen that way.”
I studied him.
“What was supposed to happen?”
He rubbed his forehead.
“Claire, things between us have been difficult.”
I felt a familiar disappointment.
Not because I hadn’t expected him to say it.
Because he still believed the best explanation for his choices was something missing in me.
“Then why didn’t you talk to me?”
“I tried.”
“When?”
He looked away.
I continued.
“When I asked to go away for a weekend? When I waited for you to come home to dinner? When I told you I missed spending time together?”
He swallowed.
“You don’t understand the pressure I’ve been under.”
I nodded slowly.
“You’re right. I don’t understand everything you’ve been dealing with.”
For a moment, he looked relieved.
Then I continued.
“But I understand that you chose to keep another relationship secret while asking me to continue trusting you.”
His eyes moved toward the invoices.
“Those payments aren’t what you think.”
“Then explain them.”
He hesitated.
“Natalie has been doing consulting work for the company.”
“All forty-two thousand six hundred dollars’ worth?”
“Some of it was advances.”
“For what?”
He looked toward the window.
I waited.
Finally, he said, “We were working on a possible new venture.”
“Without Martin knowing?”
He didn’t answer.