I leaned back in my chair.
“What exactly did you think was going to happen, Clara?”
She took a shaky breath.
“He said we would stay here for a few weeks. Then maybe go somewhere else. He said he could work remotely and had investors coming in.”
“Did he tell you he had more debt than cash?”
“No.”
“Did he tell you several of his businesses were already under pressure?”
“No.”
“Did he tell you that the house you liked so much was mine before I married him?”
Silence.
“The house?”
“Yes.”
“He said he owned it.”
“He didn’t.”
I heard a muffled argument somewhere near her.
Then Clara lowered her voice.
“He said he had millions tied up in property.”
“He doesn’t.”
More silence.
“Emily, the hotel says the card securing the room has been rejected. They’ve stopped additional charges until we provide another payment method.”
“That sounds reasonable.”
“Please don’t do this.”
“I’m not doing anything to you.”
“You know what I mean.”
“No, Clara. I honestly don’t.”
Her voice sharpened.
“We can’t cover all of this.”
“Then you probably should not have booked it.”
“We thought…”
She stopped.
I waited.
She did not finish.
You thought he was rich.
That was the sentence she could not say.
Greg’s voice sounded in the background.
“Give me the phone.”
“Greg, don’t.”
“Give it to me.”
There was a rustling sound.
Then my husband was speaking.
“Emily.”
The anger in his voice was immediate.
“Put the cards back on.”
“No.”
“This is childish.”
I looked at Detective Miller’s business card lying beside my coffee mug.
“You left the country with another woman.”
“That’s between you and me.”
“You sent her a picture from Cancun.”
“I didn’t send it.”
“Oh, that makes all the difference.”
“Emily, enough. We will deal with the marriage later. Right now you need to restore the accounts.”
“No.”
“I am your husband.”
“For the moment.”
“You cannot financially strand me in another country.”
“You are an adult with your own bank accounts.”
He did not answer.
That told me more than I expected.
“How much money do you actually have, Greg?”
“That’s none of your business.”
“You’re calling me for money. It became my business.”
“I have funds coming.”
“From where?”
He went quiet again.
Then his voice changed.
Lower.
More controlled.
The voice he used when he wanted to sound like the reasonable person in an argument.
“Emily, listen to me. You’re upset. I understand that. Clara and I handled this badly.”
“Badly?”
“I should have told you before we left.”
“You think the problem is scheduling?”
“You know our marriage hasn’t been right for a long time.”
There it was.
The affair required a rewrite of our history.
Suddenly every ordinary dinner, every shared holiday, every conversation about replacing the dishwasher became part of a marriage that had supposedly already ended.
“I’m not discussing our marriage with you from a hotel in Cancun,” I said.
“Fine. Then discuss the money. Half of what we built belongs to me.”
“That is something the attorneys can deal with.”
“You think that prenup protects everything?”
“I think my attorney is better qualified to answer that.”
“You called a lawyer already?”
“Yes.”
Silence.
Then Greg said, “You always do this.”
“Do what?”
“Turn everything into paperwork.”
I looked at the copy of the financing information investigators had shown me.
“That’s an interesting complaint today.”