Chapter 4

The words had barely left my mouth when Adrian called from the ballroom.

“Claire, the treatment center coordinator is still on the line. They need you to confirm my admission plan.”

Claire turned immediately. She had already taken several steps toward him when she seemed to remember that I was still behind her.

“What did you say?”

Before I could repeat myself, she glanced at the phone vibrating in Adrian's hand.

“Never mind. If it's about the wedding date or any of the arrangements, do whatever you think is best.” She took my hand again, speaking faster with every sentence. “I know you hate crowded parties, so go home and get some rest. Text me when you arrive. I'll come back after I finish Adrian's paperwork.”

She framed it as a question, but her fingers were already slipping from mine. Adrian called her name again, and she returned to the ballroom without looking back.

I did not follow her or repeat what I had said.

Neither Claire nor Adrian came home that night. She never asked whether I had arrived safely, and I did not ask where they had gone.

The next morning, I began packing.

When Claire and I first rented the apartment, she had promised to turn the second bedroom into my editing studio. After Adrian's first overnight crisis, she put a bed in there and said he needed a safe place he could use whenever things became too difficult.

Over time, the room filled with his clothes, a gaming console, speakers, and an entire computer setup. Jackets in his size occupied the closet, while his toiletries remained in the bathroom even during the weeks he stayed at his own place.

My monitors had been moved into a corner of our bedroom. My camera equipment stayed packed in cases beside the dining table, and whenever I edited at home, I usually sat on the edge of the bed with my laptop balanced across my knees.

Whenever another expensive delivery arrived for Adrian, Claire claimed he had wasted more of his own money. She would joke that she planned to throw all of it away one day.

While clearing the cabinet in his room, I found several receipts beneath the warranty documents. Claire had paid for the computer, speakers, gaming equipment, and most of the furniture. Together, they had cost enough to cover a full year of rent on a private editing studio.

I returned the receipts to the drawer and kept packing.

After three years in the apartment, everything that belonged to me fit into six moving boxes and two hard camera cases. A storage company collected the equipment and anything I would not need immediately. I kept only my passport, documents, field clothes, and the gear I planned to take to Nairobi.

Not long after the movers left, my mortgage broker called.

“Mr. Cole, this is Daniel from Westline Mortgage. Your preapproval with Ms. Bennett expires this Friday. If you still plan to buy after the wedding, we'll need updated proof of funds.”

For five years, Claire and I had deposited part of every paycheck, project fee, and annual bonus into a joint home account. We had planned to buy a three-bedroom house after the wedding, with enough space for a permanent editing studio.

The down payment was supposed to be wired the following week.

“You can close the application,” I said. “We won't be moving forward.”

After ending the call, I logged into the joint account to transfer my portion of the savings back to my personal account.

When the page loaded, I assumed I had opened the wrong account. I checked the account number twice before accepting what was on the screen.

The balance should have been $184,000. Only $1,638 remained.

A wire transfer from the previous month showed that $182,000 had been sent to Pacific Crest Escrow. Claire had never mentioned it.

I downloaded the complete account history and called the bank.

Once the representative verified my identity, she confirmed that Claire had authorized the wire from a recognized device. The account permissions were valid, and the transaction had passed every security check.

“What was the money used for?” I asked.

I heard a keyboard for several seconds before she answered.

“The wire memo identifies it as the down payment on a condominium.”

“Whose condominium?”

There was another pause.

“The buyer listed in the escrow reference is Adrian Vale.”