Chapter 7 - THE PATTERN INSIDE THE FOOTBALL SEASON
Susan refused to explain her message the next morning.
So I stopped asking.
Instead, I looked at the numbers.
Dana's husband, Eric, was an accountant. He wasn't a forensic investigator and didn't pretend to be one, but he showed me how to export eighteen months of joint-account activity into a spreadsheet.
The pattern was embarrassingly obvious once it was sorted by recipient.
Payments to Derek Taylor increased during football season.
Small at first.
Then larger.
They often happened the morning after games Michael had watched with unusual intensity.
There were also cash withdrawals near an ATM in Robinson Township, close to Michael's office.
I checked our credit reports.
My accounts were clean.
Michael's weren't visible to me, of course, but I remembered two letters he'd snatched from the mail during the spring.
He had told me they were junk offers.
Then Karen, the loan officer, called again.
“I need to ask you something,” she said.
Michael had uploaded supporting documents with his refinance application.
One of them was a copy of my pay statement.
Another was a PDF showing the balance in my personal brokerage account.
I had never sent either document to him.
I knew exactly where he'd gotten them.
A folder on my home computer labeled TAX 2025.
Michael knew the password because we'd filed our taxes together.
Karen emphasized that no signature had been forged on a final loan agreement.
But he'd represented to her that I supported the transaction.
“Did he say why he wanted the cash?”
“Debt consolidation and home improvements.”
There had been no planned home improvements.
That afternoon, Susan finally called.
She didn't apologize.
She sounded angry.
Mostly at Michael.
“He told us you were holding the house over him.”
“He lied.”
“I know that now.”
“What did you mean when you said he wanted me to hit him?”
She exhaled sharply.
“He told me to keep everyone downstairs quiet because he wanted the recording clean.”
A cold pressure formed behind my ribs.
“He said that?”
“He said you were dramatic and there was a chance you'd swing at somebody.”
“And if I did?”
Susan didn't answer immediately.
Then:
“He said at least he'd finally have proof.”
Proof.
The word explained why Michael had looked satisfied after I slapped him.
I asked Susan whether she still had the family text thread from before the wedding.
She said yes.
“Don't delete anything,” I told her.
“Why?”
May you like
“Because I think the bucket wasn't the trap.”
I looked at the refinance application open on my laptop.
