The upscale family restaurant. The transfers to Denise Simmons and her daughter. Tuition for Mia's international preschool. And gifts too many to count.
Every single charge was a big one—several thousand at the low end, tens of thousands at the high end.
None of it was an investment. All of it had been spent on Denise and her little girl.
In disbelief, I dialed his friend Rupert Butler.
"Rupert, how did that investment you and Oliver made last month turn out?"
I heard my own voice tremble.
Rupert didn't suspect a thing. He laughed and laid it all out.
"Real good, actually. We turned a tidy little profit—somewhere around a hundred thousand. Oliver didn't tell you? The flights and hotel for your trip to Aspen, that's what he used the money for."
There was a roaring in my ears, and my mind went blank.
"When was this?"
Rupert caught nothing wrong. He was still teasing.
"End of last month. I'm the one who booked the hotel for him—a five-star deluxe suite, for a full two weeks! You two are living larger by the day, I swear."
The end of last month. He'd canceled the trip he promised Cynthia, then turned around and set up a resort getaway in Europe for his first love and her daughter.
My heart gave a sudden lurch, and I could almost feel the pain of it, sharp and real.
If I hadn't seen it with my own eyes, how could I ever have believed it?
Stingy with his own flesh-and-blood daughter, lavish with his first love's child, willing even to lie to and deceive his own wife and daughter.
Everything Cynthia had gone without—the money, the affection—he'd poured it all into another child instead.
My heart went cold all the way through. I forwarded the bank statements to the lawyer.
"I want all of our marital assets recovered, and I want the divorce done as fast as possible."
Then, without another moment's hesitation, I signed Cynthia up for a new summer camp.
Not the five-thousand-dollar trip around Chicago. The one she'd been dreaming of—the kind where she'd get to visit more than a dozen countries.
A second after the hundred and fifty thousand went through, Oliver called.
His voice couldn't contain the fury in it.
"Isabel, what are you doing spending that kind of money?"
I forced down the emotions churning inside me and spoke calmly.
"I signed Cynthia up for the European grand-tour camp."
The line went silent for a few seconds. Then came his simmering voice.
"Isabel, have you lost your mind?
"Five thousand for the Chicago trip already put a strain on our finances, and now you've got the nerve to blow a hundred and fifty grand? Refund it. Right now."
I gave a cold laugh in my heart and, in a tone of feigned innocence, deliberately echoed the very words he'd said to Denise.
"Oliver, don't bother making excuses. I've already paid."
"I even booked Cynthia a first-class seat, so she'll arrive comfortable and settled, and can call to let us know she's safe."
Oliver's face must have gone darker still, like a ball of fire ricocheting around inside his chest.
He shut his eyes and argued through his temper.
"Isabel, I've told you. My investment ran into some trouble, and the rest of this money—we're supposed to be saving it for Cynthia to use when she's grown."
"Have you even thought about it? Throwing money around like this, what happens to Cynthia in the future?"
He didn't catch the meaning underneath my words. He was still fobbing me off with the same old lines.
I curled my lips in a mocking half-smile and shot back.
"That money of yours—will it even last until Cynthia grows up?"
"What's that supposed to mean?"
I didn't answer. I hung up on him.
I moved half the money into my personal account and headed straight for the mall with the rest.
Designer bags for myself. High-end skincare. Gold jewelry.
The clothes, the easel, the outdoor gear Oliver had refused to buy for Cynthia—I bought all of it.
