“How much?”
There was no mistake.
“A couple of thousand. It evens out.”
“Where?” I turned the screen toward him.
“Troy, this is a lot. Where is it all going?”
He rubbed his forehead, eyes still on the television. “The usual… things for the house, bills. I move money around sometimes, you know that. It’ll come back.”
I wanted to press him, but after a lifetime of knowing this man, I knew an argument at that point would just build walls.
So I waited.
I wanted to press him.
A week later, the remote died in the middle of a show I was watching. I went to Troy’s desk to search for batteries.
I opened the drawer and found a neat stack of hotel receipts tucked under some old mail.
Now, Troy did travel to California sometimes, so I wasn’t concerned until I saw that the hotel was in Massachusetts.
Every receipt was for the same hotel, same room number… the dates went back months.
I sat on the edge of the bed, staring at them until my hands went numb.
Every receipt was for the same hotel.
I kept trying to think of logical reasons for him to be traveling to Massachusetts, and I kept coming up empty.
I counted them. Eleven receipts. Eleven trips he’d lied about.
My chest felt tight. My hands shook as I entered the hotel’s number into my phone.
“Good afternoon. How may I help you?”
“Hi,” I said, forcing my voice steady. I gave her Troy’s full name and explained that I was his new assistant. “I need to book his usual room.”
I entered the hotel’s number into my phone.
“Of course,” the concierge said without hesitation. “He’s a regular. That room is basically reserved for him. When would he like to check in?”
I couldn’t breathe.
“I… I’ll call back,” I managed, and hung up.
***
When Troy came home the next evening, I was waiting at the kitchen table with the receipts. He stopped short in the doorway, keys still in his hand.
“What is this?” I asked.
I was waiting at the kitchen table with the receipts.
He looked at the paper, then at me.
“It’s not what you think.”
“Then tell me what it is.”
He stood there, jaw tight, shoulders stiff, staring at the receipts like they were something I’d planted to trap him.
“I’m not doing this,” he finally said. “You’re blowing it out of proportion.”
“It’s not what you think.”
“Blowing it out of proportion?” My voice rose. “Troy, the money’s been disappearing from our account, and you’ve visited that hotel eleven times over the past few months without telling me. You’re lying about something. What is it?”
“You’re supposed to trust me.”
“I did trust you. I do, but you’re not giving me anything to work with here.”
He shook his head. “I can’t do this right now.”
“Can’t or won’t?”
“You’re lying about something. What is it?”
He didn’t answer.
I slept in the guest room that night. I asked him to explain himself again the next morning, but he refused.
“I can’t live inside that kind of lie,” I said. “I can’t wake up every day and pretend I don’t see what’s happening.”
Troy nodded once. “I figured you’d say that.”
So, I called a lawyer.
