Chapter 3 - The Account I Thought Nobody Checked
Thomas was shouting before I could leave the waiting room.
"Tell me those charges were legitimate."
I walked toward the parking garage.
"Thomas, I can't do this right now."
"You submitted forty-two thousand dollars in client-development expenses over five months."
My footsteps stopped.
"I can explain."
"Then start."
I looked through the glass doors at the ambulance bay.
"I used the corporate card by mistake a few times."
"A few times?"
"Yes."
"Fourteen hotel charges."
My mouth went dry.
"Eight restaurants."
I said nothing.
"A jeweler."
I closed my eyes.
Thomas laughed without humor.
"You bought jewelry on the firm account?"
"I reimbursed some of it."
"Some."
"I intended to reimburse all of it."
"Intent isn't money."
I leaned against the wall.
"Thomas."
"Do you know why I found it?"
"No."
"Because our outside auditor asked why 'client development' increased thirty-eight percent when you haven't originated a new institutional client in nine months."
I rubbed my forehead.
"What happens now?"
"You tell me."
"I don't know."
"Exactly."
Thomas's voice lowered.
"Where are you?"
"Mercy Memorial."
"What happened?"
"Clara had a pregnancy scare."
There was a pause.
"Is she okay?"
"Stable."
"And you're at a hotel on the statements tonight."
I said nothing.
Thomas was too smart not to understand.
"Oh, Nathan."
"I know."
"No."
He sounded exhausted now.
"You don't."
I looked through the hospital doors again.
Rachel was standing at the desk.
"Tomorrow morning."
Thomas continued.
"Eight o'clock."
"Thomas."
"Bring your laptop."
"I may need to stay here."
"If Clara needs you, stay."
His answer cut deeper than anger.
"But if she doesn't, be in my office."
The call ended.
I stared at the phone.
Then I opened the envelope Rachel had given me.
Clara had organized everything.
That was so like her.
Even evidence of my betrayal was arranged neatly.
Each category had a yellow divider.
Hotels.
Restaurants.
Transportation.
Gifts.
Corporate expenses.
There were handwritten notes beside several charges.
March 8.
"Told me Denver."
March 22.
"Said delayed at airport."
April 4.
"Asked me to postpone nursery dresser."
I gripped the folder harder.
Every lie had a date.
Every date had a cost.
Not just money.
Memory.
Trust.
Hours she had spent alone while I told myself she was sleeping comfortably at home.
On another page, she had written:
NATHAN SAID BONUS LOWER THIS YEAR.
CHECKED FIRM WEBSITE.
ANNOUNCED RECORD REVENUE FEBRUARY.
That stopped me.
I remembered the conversation.
Clara had been sitting at the kitchen counter.
She had asked whether we could replace the old furnace before the baby arrived because the nursery temperature fluctuated at night.
I had been transferring $6,000 to a private card I used with Emily.
"We need to wait."
I had said.
"This year hasn't been great."
Clara had nodded.
"Okay."
She had worn a gray sweater.
Her hair had been damp from a shower.
I remembered because she had looked beautiful.
I remembered thinking that.
And then I had lied to her anyway.
A nurse came through the doors.
"Mr. Hale?"
I stepped forward.
"Yes."
"Your wife authorized the doctor to give you one more update."
"Can I see her?"
"Not yet."
The word yet felt like oxygen.
"How is she?"
"Contractions have stopped."
I closed my eyes.
"Good."
"The baby continues to look stable."
"Thank God."
"She'll probably remain overnight for monitoring."
"Can I bring her anything?"
The nurse studied me.
"Her sister brought a bag."
"Okay."
I hesitated.
"Can you tell her I'm sorry?"
The nurse's expression softened slightly.
"I can tell her you asked."
"No."
I shook my head.
"Don't."
She waited.
"I've said sorry for things before."
I looked down at the envelope.
"Just tell her I'm here if she needs anything."
The nurse nodded.
At 1:37 a.m., Rachel came out.
"She's sleeping."
I stood.
"Can I—"
"No."
"Rachel."
"She doesn't want you in there."
"Is she angry?"
The question was so pathetic that Rachel actually stared at me.
"Angry?"
"I mean—"
"She's humiliated."
That word was worse.
I sat back down.
Rachel remained standing.
"She asked me something twenty minutes ago."
"What?"
"She asked whether Emily was prettier than her."
I felt something break inside my chest.
Rachel's eyes filled.
"Do you understand what you did?"
I couldn't answer.
"My sister is thirty-three weeks pregnant."
She continued.
"Her ankles hurt."
"Her back hurts."
"She throws up half the mornings."
"She cries because she thinks she looks tired in every picture."
"And while she's cleaning hotel toilets to save enough money to escape a marriage she knows is wrong, she sees you walking toward a luxury suite with another woman dressed for a magazine cover."
I looked away.
Rachel wouldn't let me.
"No."
She snapped.
"Look at me."
I did.
"She asked me if you cheated because pregnancy made her ugly."
"I shook my head.
"No."
"Then why?"
I opened my mouth.
Nothing came.
That was the first time anyone had asked the question directly.
Why?
Emily was attractive.
Exciting.
Easy.
She didn't ask about the furnace.
She didn't leave prenatal vitamins beside my coffee.
She didn't remind me about insurance forms.
She didn't know me before I became a partner.
With Emily, I could be impressive.
With Clara, I was known.
And maybe that had been the real problem.
Not that Clara wasn't enough.
That she knew exactly how ordinary I was beneath everything expensive.
"I was selfish."
I finally said.
Rachel laughed softly.
"That's a word people use when they don't want to describe what they actually did."
She turned away.
"Then describe it for me."
"I wanted to feel like someone else."
Rachel stopped.
"Someone else?"
"Someone important."
Her shoulders fell.
"Nathan."
She looked at me with something almost like pity.
"Clara thought you were important when you were broke."
That sentence hit harder than everything else.
She was right.
Clara had married me when my suits came from discount outlets.
She had packed sandwiches for me during bar exam study weeks.
She had paid our electricity bill from her teacher's salary when my first firm delayed bonuses.
She had sat beside me outside my father's hospital room the night he died.
She had believed in Nathan before anyone cared about Nathan Hale, Partner.
And I had traded being known for being admired.
Rachel walked toward the exit.
"Where are you going?"
"Home."
"What about Clara?"
"She wants me to get something."
"I can get it."
"No."
"What is it?"
Rachel looked at me.
"A suitcase."
My stomach tightened.
"For the hospital?"
"No."
She held my gaze.
May you like
"For when she leaves your house."
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