Page 134 of This Life of Mine

My gaze sweeps the parking lot on instinct. Entrances. Exits. Vehicles. Faces. Nothing holds my attention for more than a second before I move to the next. It’s a habit I’ve spent years perfecting—one that usually keeps my pulse steady.

Not today.

The relentless pecking of Reese’s keyboard crackles through the speaker, each keystroke scraping another layer off my patience.

“Reese…what happened?”

“Hold on, fucker.” More keyboard clicks.

“David just entered the office.”

I stop moving. Reese isn’t guessing; he’s watching and listening.

“What is he doing?”

I hear a rustle of papers through the feed. A drawer opening. Then another.

Reese exhales. “He looks agitated.”

That gets my attention.

David Allister strikes me as controlled. Measured. The kind of man who thinks before he speaks. Agitated is not a word I would have used to describe him.

“What do you mean?”

“He’s tearing through paperwork.”

I pull open my driver’s side door but I don’t get in.

“Looking for something specific?” I ask.

“Looks like it.”

The audio crackles briefly. For several seconds, all I hear is movement. Footsteps. A door opening somewhere in the house.

Then David’s voice cuts through the speaker. “Stay out of my office.”

The words are sharp enough to make me straighten.

A woman’s voice follows. Even through the distortion, I can hear the irritation. “Oh for God’s sake, David—“

“I said stay out of my goddamn office.”

Silence.

Then Reese lets out a low whistle. “Well. Somebody’s having a day.”

I hold my phone closer. “What am I listening to?”

“Marital bliss.” Reese chimes in.

Then David speaks. “Where is the money going, Elinor?”

My pulse spikes, waiting for more.

“Let me turn up the volume,” Reese says.

The word money sends my thoughts back to the bank statements. The shell companies. The withdrawals circled in red ink.