CHAP 15 — THE LOWEST POINT
The forensic fight over the iPad nearly broke me.
Jason’s attorneys challenged portions of the extraction.
They argued the device contained privileged communications, company material, personal data and information outside the scope of the divorce.
They did not erase the evidence.
But they complicated how it could be used.
Whitmore had independent records.
The bank had independent records.
Amber had her phone.
Matt had his messages.
Still, the iPad had been the beginning.
For one terrible week, I felt as if the truth itself had become procedural.
Objection.
Foundation.
Authentication.
Scope.
Privilege.
I wanted to scream:
He did it.
But courts do not run on certainty inside one person’s chest.
They run on admissible proof.
Then the house appraisal came back lower than expected.
Unfinished renovations.
Market shift.
Lien history.
Repair issues.
After the mortgage and likely selling costs, the equity was far less than the dream number Jason and I had once discussed.
I sat at the dining table surrounded by papers.
The marriage was gone.
The future I had planned was gone.
The house might not even produce enough to make me financially whole.
For the first time, I asked myself whether fighting had been worth it.
If I had accepted Jason’s first offer, maybe I would have had the house.
Maybe I would have avoided months of lawyers.
Maybe I would have spared my parents.
Maybe I would have slept.
Leah came over with takeout.
I told her everything.
Then I said, “What if I should’ve just taken the deal?”
She chewed slowly.
“You mean the deal requiring you to return the evidence and sign confidentiality before you understood the missing money?”
“Yes.”
“No.”
“You answered very fast.”
“Because that one is easy.”
“I’m tired.”
“That’s different.”
“I don’t feel brave.”
“Good.”
I looked at her.
She set down her fork.
“Bravery is a terrible daily goal. Some days you just complete the next correct task.”
“What’s mine?”
“Eat.”
I laughed despite myself.
Then I cried.
Again.
I was getting tired of crying.
The next morning, my employer called me into HR.
For one horrifying moment, I thought Jason had reached my job.
Instead, my director closed the door and said, “We know you’re dealing with a legal matter. Your performance has been strong, but you’ve used almost all your leave.”
My chest tightened.
“I know.”
“We can approve temporary flexible hours.”
I stared.
“You’re not firing me?”
She blinked.
“No.”
I began crying in front of my boss.
Mortifying.
She pushed the tissue box toward me.
“Take five minutes.”
That small kindness undid me more than cruelty would have.
That evening, I drove to the house.
I stood in the empty guest room where Amber had cried on my wedding night.
The room was just a room again.
Four walls.
Carpet.
A window facing the backyard.
I sat on the floor.
At 2:17 a.m., I had believed the worst thing that could happen was losing my marriage.
I had been wrong.
The worst thing was losing trust in my own judgment.
That was what Jason’s lies had actually damaged.
Every memory became suspect.
Every choice looked foolish.
Every instinct required verification.
I did not know how to rebuild that.
Then my phone buzzed.
Simon.
He rarely contacted me directly anymore.
I answered.
“I found something in the old device image.”
“What?”
“An automatically cached calendar attachment.”
I closed my eyes.
“Simon, I can’t take another surprise.”
“This one may help.”
“What is it?”
“A calendar entry. Code AC-17.”
I remembered the strange initials from the spreadsheet.
“What does it mean?”
“I think AC is audit cycle.”
“And seventeen?”
“A vendor batch.”
I stood.
“So?”
“So the attachment contains a list of invoices Whitmore’s system was scheduled to sample.”
My heart began beating faster.
“Red Creek?”
“Yes.”
“How many?”
“Three.”
“When was the audit scheduled?”
“Tuesday after your wedding.”
Monday.
The loan was supposed to close Monday.
Tuesday the audit began.
Jason’s timeline finally locked into place.
Simon continued.
“There’s a note in the calendar event.”
“What note?”
He read it.
Replace RC exposure before AC-17.
I closed my eyes.
May you like
The home equity loan was not a theory anymore.
It was a deadline.
