PART 3 — THE ACCOUNT THAT WASN’T HIS

Travis stood frozen beneath the porch light, phone pressed to his ear.
I could see his mouth moving.
But whatever the person on the other end was saying had erased every bit of anger from his face.
“What do you mean frozen?”
That was the first sentence I heard clearly through the glass.
He turned away from the house.
“No. No, listen to me. You can’t do that.”
A pause.
“Because that money has nothing to do with my marriage.”
Another pause.
His voice dropped.
“Who contacted you?”
I moved closer to the window.
Travis glanced toward the house and immediately lowered his voice.
That told me enough.
Whatever this was, he did not want me hearing it.
He walked toward his truck.
“Call me back when you know more.”
Then he hung up.
For nearly thirty seconds, he stood beside the truck staring at nothing.
Finally, he marched back toward the porch.
“June!”
I didn’t open the door.
“June, this has gone far enough.”
I stayed silent.
He knocked again.
“Your attorney contacted my bank.”
I picked up my phone and called Rebecca.
She answered immediately.
“He’s here.”
“Is he inside?”
“No.”
“Keep it that way.”
“He says his account is frozen.”
Rebecca was quiet for a second.
“Not exactly.”
My stomach tightened.
“What does that mean?”
“The institution placed temporary restrictions after receiving notice connected to the divorce proceedings and unusual transfer activity.”
“Unusual transfer activity?”
“Yes.”
I looked toward Travis.
He was pacing now.
Rebecca continued.
“June, there’s something I need to discuss with you tomorrow.”
“What?”
“Not over the phone.”
My heart started beating faster.
“Rebecca.”
“I’m serious. Come to my office at nine.”
I lowered my voice.
“Is this about the other deposits?”
“Yes.”
Before I could ask anything else, Travis pounded on the door again.
“JUNE!”
Rebecca heard it.
“Do not argue with him.”
“I won’t.”
“If he refuses to leave, call law enforcement.”
I looked through the glass.
Travis’s jaw was clenched.
“Okay.”
I hung up.
Then I opened the door just enough to speak through the security chain.
Travis stared at the chain like it personally offended him.
“You changed the locks.”
“Yes.”
“This is my house.”
“No.”
His eyes narrowed.
“What did you just say?”
I held his stare.
“This house belonged to my father. Then it belonged to me. You lived here because we were married.”
His face reddened.
“I paid for this place for nine years.”
“You paid bills while living here.”
“I paid taxes.”
“Sometimes.”
“I paid repairs.”
“Sometimes.”
“I paid the insurance.”
“Some years.”
His voice rose.
“You’re really going to stand there and act like I contributed nothing?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“Then let me inside.”
“No.”
He stared at me.
“Where am I supposed to sleep?”
I almost laughed.
For years, Travis had believed every inconvenience in my life was my responsibility.
Now he expected me to solve his.
“You have your truck.”
“Very funny.”
“And you earn one hundred forty-one thousand dollars a year. I’m sure you can find a hotel.”
His expression shifted when I mentioned the salary.
Just slightly.
But I noticed.
“Why did you say it like that?”
“Like what?”
“One hundred forty-one.”
“That’s what you earn.”
He didn’t answer.
And suddenly I remembered the bank statement.
The extra deposits.
The money that didn’t match his pay.
A cold feeling spread through my chest.
“Unless you earn more than you told me.”
Travis went completely still.
There it was.
Not anger.
Fear.
“Who have you been talking to?”
“My attorney.”
“What did she tell you?”
“Enough.”
He stepped closer.
The chain stretched slightly.
“June, whatever she thinks she found, she doesn’t understand my work.”
“What does offshore drilling have to do with deposits of twelve thousand dollars?”
His face changed again.
Now I knew.
He knew exactly what I was talking about.
“Where did you see that?”
I smiled without meaning to.
“You just answered my question.”
“June.”
“Goodnight, Travis.”
“Wait.”
I started closing the door.
His hand shot forward and grabbed the edge.
My entire body locked.
“Move your hand.”
“Just listen to me.”
“Move your hand.”
He looked at my face.
Then slowly released the door.
I closed it.
Locked it.
Then stood with my back against it until I heard his truck start.
The headlights disappeared down the gravel drive five minutes later.
I did not sleep.
At exactly nine the next morning, I walked into Rebecca’s office.
She wasn’t alone.
A man in a gray suit sat beside her desk.
“This is Michael Chen,” Rebecca said. “He’s a forensic accountant.”
That phrase made my stomach twist.
“Forensic?”
Michael stood and shook my hand.
“We review financial records when assets may have been concealed or moved.”
I sat down.
Rebecca pushed a folder toward me.
“We received preliminary records through the appropriate legal process.”
I opened it.
Page after page of transfers.
Deposits.
Withdrawals.
Electronic payments.
Accounts I had never seen.
Michael pointed to one column.
“Your husband’s offshore salary appears normal.”
“So what are the other deposits?”
“That’s what caught our attention.”
He turned several pages.
“Over approximately four years, Travis received deposits totaling just over three hundred twenty thousand dollars beyond his reported employment income.”
I stared at him.
“Three hundred twenty thousand?”
“Yes.”
I almost laughed because the number felt impossible.
Travis had made me feel guilty for buying better laundry detergent.
He had told me we couldn’t afford a new air conditioner.
He had questioned grocery bills.
Meanwhile, hundreds of thousands of dollars had passed through accounts I didn’t know existed.
“Where did it come from?”
Michael pointed to several transfers.
“Multiple sources.”
“People?”
“Some individuals. Some business entities.”
Rebecca watched me carefully.
“One company appears repeatedly.”
Michael slid another page toward me.
GULF COAST PROCUREMENT SERVICES LLC.
I read the name twice.
“What is that?”
“We’re still investigating.”
“Is it connected to Travis’s employer?”
“That’s one possibility.”
Michael turned another page.
“Payments from this company increased substantially two years ago.”
“How much?”
“Approximately one hundred eighty-seven thousand dollars.”
I looked at Rebecca.
“Why would a company pay my husband that much money?”
“That’s the question.”
Michael leaned forward.
“There’s something else.”
Of course there was.
He placed a property record in front of me.
An address near Lafayette.
I had never seen it.
“What is this?”
“A house.”
“I can see that.”
Michael nodded.
“Purchased eighteen months ago.”
I scanned the document.
The purchase price was $264,000.
“Whose house?”
Michael pointed to the ownership section.
My eyes landed on the name.
And suddenly everything in the room seemed to disappear.
TRAVIS HALE.
My husband owned another house.
A house I didn’t know existed.
I looked up slowly.
“He bought a house?”
Rebecca nodded.
“It appears so.”
“With what money?”
“We’re tracing that.”
“Why?”
Neither answered immediately.
That silence terrified me more than anything.
Then Michael turned one final page.
“This utility record may explain part of it.”
There were two names attached to the property.
Travis Hale.
And a woman named:
AMANDA REEVES.
I stared at the name.
“Who is Amanda Reeves?”
Rebecca watched me.
“We were hoping you could tell us.”
“I’ve never heard that name.”
Michael folded his hands.
“The property records show she has used that address for over a year.”
My mouth went dry.
“Does she own it?”
“No.”
“Then why is she listed there?”
“Utility records. Delivery records. Insurance correspondence.”
I sat back.
The room felt suddenly too warm.
Nine years.
Nine years of Travis telling me money was tight.
Nine years of asking permission.
Nine years of patching fences and postponing repairs while he apparently owned another house.
My voice came out barely above a whisper.
“Is she his girlfriend?”
Rebecca shook her head.
“We don’t know that.”
I nodded.
I appreciated that she didn’t pretend.
But the thought had already lodged itself inside me.
Michael continued.
“There’s another unusual detail.”
I almost didn’t want to hear it.
“What?”
“The house wasn’t purchased directly by Travis.”
I looked at him.
“You just showed me his name.”
“He received ownership later.”
“From who?”
Michael turned the page.
The original buyer was Gulf Coast Procurement Services LLC.
The same company that had sent Travis nearly two hundred thousand dollars.
I stared at the paper.
“What does that mean?”
“It could mean several things,” Michael said carefully.
“But it means the company paying your husband also purchased a house that eventually ended up in his name.”
Rebecca leaned toward me.
“And that makes those payments much more important.”
My phone buzzed.
TRAVIS.
I ignored it.
It buzzed again.
Then again.
Finally, a text appeared.
WE NEED TO TALK BEFORE YOU DO SOMETHING YOU DON’T UNDERSTAND.
I showed Rebecca.
She read it.
“Don’t answer.”
Another message appeared.
THIS IS BIGGER THAN OUR MARRIAGE.
Michael and Rebecca exchanged a look.
I felt my stomach drop.
“What does that mean?”
Neither answered.
My phone buzzed a third time.
One photograph.
Travis standing beside a woman.
Blonde hair.
Early thirties.
She was holding a little boy.
Maybe five years old.
Underneath the photo Travis had written:
THERE ARE THINGS I NEVER TOLD YOU.
I stared at the little boy.
He had Travis’s eyes.
The same narrow shape.
The same dark eyebrows.
My hands began shaking.
Then another message appeared.
PLEASE DON’T CONTACT AMANDA.
I looked up at Rebecca.
“I think I know who Amanda Reeves is.”
Rebecca leaned forward.
“June, don’t assume anything yet.”
But then my phone rang.
Not Travis.
Unknown number.
I answered cautiously.
“Hello?”
A woman’s voice came through.
“Is this June Hale?”
“Yes.”
She inhaled sharply.
“My name is Amanda Reeves.”
My heart stopped.
“I think we need to talk.”
I looked at Rebecca.
Amanda continued.
“And before Travis tells you a story that makes him look like the victim, there’s something you deserve to know.”
I gripped the phone tighter.
“What?”
Her next sentence changed the entire case.
“Travis told me you died six years ago.”

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PART 4 — My husband secretly removed me from our accounts, then laughed