“She’s an interior consultant,” Ryan replied.
Julia turned toward him.
“For which interior?”
He ignored her.
“We discussed renovating.
Vanessa prepared designs.
Those payments were retainers and deposits.”
“Nothing was renovated,” Julia said.
“Because you rejected every idea I brought you.”
Julia almost admired how quickly he built the lie.
There had been no designs.
No samples.
No contractor meetings.
Ryan had once suggested replacing the kitchen cabinets, but when Julia asked for an estimate, he changed the subject and never mentioned it again.
Mara slid photocopies of the payment authorizations across the table.
“These transfers were approved through your login credentials, Mr.
Whitmore.
The descriptions included cabinet fabrication, imported tile, lighting design, and architectural consulting.
We have found no permits, deliveries, plans, or completed work associated with any of them.”
Ryan pushed the pages away.
“This is a marital disagreement, not a criminal investigation.”
“At the moment,” Mara said, “it is a request for an explanation.”
His gaze moved to Julia.
“You’re really going to sit there and let your mother’s lawyer treat me like a thief because I made one mistake?”
Julia thought of Vanessa’s red nails around her mother’s wineglass.
“Which mistake?” she asked.
“The affair or the money?”
Ryan’s face hardened.
The shame he had performed the night before disappeared.
In its place came the man Julia had glimpsed during arguments about bills, family holidays, and his long unexplained absences—the man who became cruel when charm stopped working.
“You have no idea how suffocating it was to live in a house where everything came from your mother,” he said.
“Her furniture.
Her money.
Her rules.
Even after she died, she was still controlling the room.”
Julia looked at the wooden box.
Her mother had never controlled Ryan.
She had simply seen him clearly.
Mara gathered the documents into a neat stack.
“You need to leave now, Mr.
Whitmore.
My office will send formal instructions regarding preservation of financial records and access to the property.
Do not remove Julia’s possessions, destroy documents, or transfer funds.”
Ryan laughed again, but there was no confidence in it.
“You can send whatever letters you want.
I live there.”
“For the moment,” Mara said.
Ryan looked at Julia one last time.
“When this gets ugly, remember that you started it.”
Julia held his gaze.
“You started it on my couch.”
After he left, Mara locked the office door.
Julia’s hands began to shake only then.
She pressed them flat against the conference table, embarrassed by the delayed reaction, but Mara placed a glass of water beside her and waited.
“Did you know about those transfers?” Mara asked.
