Deconstructed(86)

“Fine.” Juke shrugged and spun in his chair.

Ruby reached over and set her hand on my arm. “But only if you want to do this. If it isn’t what you want, no big deal. Like you said, you’ll be okay. But if you want what’s yours, you may have to take it.”

I set my free hand atop hers and gave it a squeeze. “I need to think about it. I need to think about how Scott might react. He’s careful in his business dealings, but if he were rattled, he might give in and sign the papers. Maybe.”

“It’s a risk,” Juke said.

“Even more of a risk is ignoring those photos. Those scare me. I have a child who a goon is threatening. I can’t ignore that to chase money.”

“Don’t ignore it,” Juke said, narrowing his eyes. “This Donner guy has built a house of cards, and the wind is blowing. He’s panicking. This is likely a control tactic designed to coerce Scott into doing what he wants. But the reason doesn’t matter. I’ll tail Julia Kate. Follow her home. Keep her safe until this is over. Most of my work can be done in the car. I owe you that much for my earlier failure.”

“You think those photos are bluster?” I asked, glancing over to Griffin. His eyes looked resolute. Maybe even a bit soft? At any rate, he gave me a look that stilled me.

“Juke will keep her safe,” Ruby said.

They all stared at me, waiting for me to decide. Part of me wanted to walk out and go straight to the police station with the information I had. But what would they do? How long would it take to start an investigation? The police force had shrunk. Word was, law enforcement was overworked and understaffed. The other part of me wondered what the ballsy girl detective in my book would do. She would steam open letters, sneak around alleys, and carry one of those tiny guns she could fit in a garter belt beneath her flouncy cocktail dress. Of course, that was an old book with old ways. A silly fancy of mine that I had dreamed up to help me cope. To help me feel like I was doing something.

Should I take the risk? Could I trick Scott? He was already rattled. Maybe . . . just maybe . . .

“Okay. Let’s try it. I want to one-up him just for spite,” I said, clapping my hands together.

Everyone looked pleased. Of course, it was easy for them to formulate a plan and not worry so much if it didn’t work. They had nothing to lose. They didn’t have children. Well, that I knew of. I had a lot to lose. But even with those thoughts, I found a blooming warmth inside me at the thought that these three—what had Ruby called her family? Oh yeah. That these fringe people cared enough to come up with a crazy plan to help me.

And so I left the private investigator’s office and journeyed to my attorney’s office, where I begged Jackie to produce the waiver of service and was pleasantly pleased that she was willing to make a call to see if she might speed the proceedings along more quickly. Then I went home and started looking for the information about the offshore account. First, I looked in the closet, noting that the foxtail sex toy was gone. Good riddance. And then I scoured Scott’s desk. Finally, I backtracked into the folders we kept from our travels and found the brochure for the bank he’d visited. In the small folder, I found generic information, but I also found a deposit slip, and faintly imprinted on that deposit slip were the outlines of numbers. I could see all of them, except I wasn’t certain if one was an eight or a three. I scratched onto my notepad the website address and the possible account number and went to the computer. Only took five minutes and I was into Scott’s account. He really was stupid about passwords. Thank goodness he was stupid about passwords. Of course, I nearly failed when the site asked for a PIN. But a quick look back at the bank’s folder and I found that scratched on the bottom.

He had several million dollars in the account.

What an ass.

I took pictures of the accounts, noting that Scott’s was the only name on them, and then I erased my search history and started typing up documents that listed our assets, our insurance policies, and our IRAs and the retirement accounts he’d already raided. I even made up a statement that said something about electing to not undergo marriage counseling. Altogether, I amassed a nice stack. Not exactly mortgage signing, but enough to annoy my soon-to-be ex-husband.

Which led me to where I now sat in Dak’s bar, waiting on Scott.

For the past few days, I had sweated Donner being arrested, but thankfully, Dak’s contact inferred that it would be next week at the soonest. Ducks in a row and all that. Scott hadn’t been staying at the house, telling me that he was helping a friend through a rough patch. Juke had assured me that the friend who needed helping was Stephanie, and that the rough patch was likely adulterous sex. But I quibble. I told Scott it was fine, and that I was so proud that he was helping a friend who was trying to quit drinking or whatever, and that I was super busy with Spring Fling so I would have been poor company anyhow. We both knew that we were avoiding each other, but that was fine for a few days.

This morning I had sent him this text:

I know things aren’t good between us. I think we need to talk. Meet me at the Bullpen at 12:30 p.m. Let’s stop avoiding the problem.

To which he responded:

Okay. Yeah. We need to talk. And what’s the Bullpen?

I typed back the location. He sent a question emoji. I ignored it.

So at this point I wasn’t certain he’d come, but then again, I knew Scott. He probably thought he’d be doing damage control, and if he were going to scoot out of the country, leaving me and his daughter, he would at least want to profess to himself and anyone else he valued that he had been straight with me. Or maybe not. Did I really know him anymore?