The courthouse doors.
All I could hear was my own pulse.
Grant turned again and saw my expression change.
That was when he knew I knew.
Sabrina looked between us. “Grant… what’s happening?”
He swallowed. “Nothing.”
“Don’t lie to me.”
“It’s paperwork.”
“Why is your lawyer calling during our celebration?”
His mother stood slowly from the curb. “Grant?”
He rubbed one hand across his mouth, buying time.
The same hand that had once rested on the small of my back while promising me we would build a life together.
The same hand that signed mortgage papers.
Birthday cards.
Hospital forms when Owen was born.
And apparently… forged documents.
My attorney called.
I answered immediately.
“Claire,” she said without greeting, voice sharp and fast. “Where are you?”
“In the parking lot.”
“Good. Stay there.”
Grant heard every word.
His eyes locked onto mine.
“Listen carefully,” she continued. “The court clerk caught inconsistencies in the transfer authorizations attached to the asset disclosures. The judge has suspended final processing of the settlement.”
Sabrina’s face drained of color.
Grant took one step toward me. “Claire—”
I held up a hand.
For once in our marriage, he stopped talking when I did.
My attorney kept going.
“The bank’s fraud department confirmed someone moved nearly two million dollars from Holloway Supply’s reserve accounts three days before filing. The problem is…” She paused. “The money never went where the documents claimed.”
Grant’s brother frowned. “What the hell does that mean?”
No one answered him.
Because we all understood at the same time.
The money was gone.
Gone-gone.
