Chapter 4: The Account With My Name On It
I spent the next hour staring at the same spot on the kitchen wall.
Not because there was anything interesting there.
There wasn’t.
Just a small crack near the corner where the paint had started peeling.
A flaw I had noticed hundreds of times but never cared enough to fix.
Funny how that worked.
You could live inside something broken for years and convince yourself it was fine.
Until someone pointed at the damage.
Then suddenly you couldn’t see anything else.
My phone sat on the counter.
Devin’s last words repeated in my head.
*I think Malik has been using me too.*
I wanted to dismiss it.
I wanted to call him paranoid.
I wanted to tell myself this was just another person making my marriage more complicated than it already was.
But then I remembered Malik’s reaction that morning.
The way he avoided my questions.
The way he knew about the calls but never asked why they happened.
And the thing that bothered me most…
The thing I couldn’t stop thinking about.
He never asked what Devin had found.
He only cared that I knew.
A person who had nothing to hide would want to know what the accusation was.
A person who was afraid of being exposed would want to control the damage.
I hated that thought.
Because it made me question everything.
The front door opened.
I turned.
Malik walked in.
For a second, neither of us spoke.
He looked different.
Not physically.
But emotionally.
Like something inside him had shifted while he was gone.
“You’re still here.””
I frowned.
“Where else would I be?””
He looked away.
“I don’t know.””
That hurt more than I expected.
Because after four years of marriage, he sounded like he wasn’t sure where I belonged.
“I need to ask you something.””
His shoulders tensed.
“Okay.””
“Do you have another bank account?””
The silence was immediate.
Too immediate.
His eyes moved to mine.
“Why?””
My stomach dropped.
Because that wasn’t a denial.
“That’s your answer?””
“No.””
“Then answer the question.””
He walked farther into the kitchen.
“Where is this coming from?””
“Malik.””
“Who told you?””
I stared at him.
And there it was.
Not is it true?
Not what account?
Not why would you think that?
His first question was about the source.
“Why does that matter?””
“Because I want to know who’s putting ideas in your head.””
My chest tightened.
“Maybe nobody is.””
“Simone.””
“No. Maybe I’m asking because I’m your wife and I deserve to know.””
He rubbed his forehead.
“I don’t understand what’s happening.””
“I asked you a simple question.””
He looked at me.
“Yes.””
The word came quietly.
But it still hit like a punch.
“You do?””
“Yes.””
“For how long?””
“It’s not what you think.””
I almost laughed.
Everyone said that before explaining exactly what you thought.
“Then tell me what it is.””
He sat down.
His confidence was gone.
“It’s a business account.””
I crossed my arms.
“A business account?””
“Yes.””
“And why didn’t I know about it?””
“Because it wasn’t connected to our household.””
“That doesn’t answer my question.””
He looked frustrated.
“It was temporary.””
“How temporary?””
He didn’t answer.
I felt something inside me crack.
“How long, Malik?””
“Two years.””
Two years.
The number echoed.
“You had an account for two years that you never mentioned.””
“I was going to.””
“When?””
“Soon.””
I looked at him.
“Soon?””
He sighed.
“I knew you’d react like this.””
Like this.
Like asking questions was unreasonable.
Like being surprised was a flaw.
“What exactly am I reacting to?””
He stood.
“Simone, I wasn’t hiding money from you.””
“Then what were you doing?””
“I was trying to handle something.””
“What?””
His silence returned.
And this time, I saw it.
Fear.
Not anger.
Not annoyance.
Fear.
“What did you do?””
He looked down.
“I made an investment.””
My heart sank.
“What kind of investment?””
“One that didn’t work out.””
“How much?””
“Simone.””
“How much?””
He looked at me.
“Almost seventy thousand.””
I stopped.
The kitchen suddenly sounded far away.
The refrigerator humming.
The clock ticking.
The rain starting against the window.
Almost seventy thousand dollars.
“From where?””
He hesitated.
“Our savings.””
I stared at him.
“You used our savings?””
“I replaced most of it.””
“Most?””
He looked away.
My hands started shaking.
“You took money from us.””
“I was trying to make more for us.””
“You gambled with our future.””
“It wasn’t gambling.””
“It sounds exactly like gambling.””
“No, it was a business opportunity.””
“Without telling me.””
His jaw tightened.
“I knew you wouldn’t understand.””
The sentence hurt.
Because it revealed something bigger.
Not just that he hid money.
That he had decided I didn’t deserve a say.
“You keep saying things like that.””
“What?””
“You keep saying you knew what I would do.””
I stepped closer.
“But you never gave me the chance to prove you wrong.””
He didn’t respond.
And that silence told me everything.
A few hours later, I met Devin at a small coffee shop twenty minutes from our house.
Somewhere neutral.
Somewhere no one knew us.
At least that was what I told myself.
The truth was simpler.
I didn’t want to sit across from him in the place where we had created so many memories.
That felt too personal.
Too dangerous.
When he walked in, he looked exhausted.
He immediately noticed my expression.
“Did he tell you?””
I stared at him.
“About the account?””
He nodded.
“Yes.””
“He admitted it.””
Devin sat down slowly.
“So it’s true.””
“You already knew.””
“I suspected.””
I studied him.
“You said you found documents.””
“I did.””
“Show me.””
He reached into his bag.
For a moment, he hesitated.
Then he pulled out a folder.
Not a phone.
Not screenshots.
A folder.
My stomach tightened.
“What is that?””
“Everything.””
I opened it.
The first page was a bank statement.
Malik’s name.
An account number.
Transactions.
My eyes scanned the dates.
Then I saw it.
A transfer.
A large one.
But the name attached to the transaction wasn’t Malik’s.
It was Devin’s.
I looked up.
“What is this?””
Devin swallowed.
“That’s why I said I think he used me.””
“How?””
“He asked me to open a business account.””
I blinked.
“What?””
“He told me his credit was complicated because of an old issue. He said he needed someone he trusted.””
“And you agreed?””
“I was his best friend.””
The sadness in his voice was obvious.
“You trusted him.””
“Yes.””
He looked down.
“I would have done anything for him.””
A painful silence passed.
“Why didn’t you tell Tasha?””
His face changed.
“Because I didn’t want her involved.””
“She deserves to know.””
“I know.””
“Then why?””
He looked at me.
“Because if Malik really did this, I need proof before I destroy everything.””
The word destroy stayed between us.
I looked back at the papers.
There were more transactions.
More dates.
More amounts.
Then one line caught my attention.
A transfer made six months earlier.
A payment.
To a company name I didn’t recognize.
“What is this?””
Devin looked.
His expression changed instantly.
“I don’t know.””
“You don’t know?””
“No.””
“Then why is it in these documents?””
He leaned closer.
The color drained from his face.
“Because that’s not supposed to be there.””
“What do you mean?””
He took the paper from me.
His fingers trembled.
“Simone…”
“What?””
He looked at me.
“That company is connected to someone else.””
“Who?””
He didn’t answer.
“Devin.””
He slowly turned the paper around.
At the bottom was a signature.
A name.
A name that made my entire body go cold.
Because it wasn’t Malik’s.
And it wasn’t Devin’s.
It was mine.
*Simone Carter.*
I stared at the signature.
“That’s impossible.””
Devin’s voice was barely above a whisper.
“Simone…”
“I never signed this.””
He looked at me.
“I know.””
“Then why is my name on it?””
Neither of us spoke.
Outside, cars passed.
People walked by.
The world continued like nothing had changed.
Then Devin looked at the document again.
And quietly said:
“Because someone didn’t just hide money from you.””
May you like
He looked up.
“Someone might have been pretending to be you.””