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The screen of my phone cast a cold, blue glow onto my palms as my fingers flew across the banking applications. Twelve years of unconditional trust were erased in exactly four minutes of digital precision.
Because I handled our joint accounts and our real estate holdings, I possessed every master password, token, and authorization key. I didn’t just transfer the liquid savings. I liquidated our high-yield investment portfolios, transferred the entire balance of our mutual retirement fund into a private account under my maiden name, and canceled the automated mortgage payments for the renovated redstone house and the Michigan lake property.
By 4:14 PM, the joint balances read exactly zero.
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I looked back through the narrow glass window of the postpartum room. Ethan was still there, completely oblivious, gently rocking the baby girl while the woman in the bed—whose medical chart hanging on the door identified her as Valerie Vance—reached up to stroke his cheek. The man who had kissed my forehead at dawn pretending to catch a flight to Paris had just become a financial ghost.
“Dr. Rhodes?” a soft voice whispered behind me.
