Margaret reviewed the Dubai reservation first. Then the messages. Then the joint-account transaction. She didn’t gasp. She didn’t offer sympathy. She simply removed her glasses and said, “Mrs. Whitmore, your husband is a fool.”
It was the first genuine smile I had managed in nearly a week.
“Can I move the money?” I asked.
“The majority of those funds came from your income?”
“Yes.”
“You are allowed to protect your portion from continued misuse,” she replied carefully. “Keep records of everything. Don’t spend recklessly. Don’t conceal assets from the court. But if he is actively using marital funds to support an affair, you are under no obligation to sit quietly and watch.”
That was all I needed to hear.
I walked out of her office carrying a plan so precise it was almost unsettling.
Carter’s so-called Denver conference was scheduled to begin the following Monday. His flight to Dubai departed JFK at 11:20 a.m. Vanessa’s ticket appeared on the exact same itinerary. They would arrive late Tuesday evening Dubai time. By the time they reached the hotel, it would be late enough that panic would feel very much like isolation. Demographics
I had no intention of stopping the trip.
