It was thin. Frantic.
“We need to talk,” he blurted. “Now.”
I leaned back in my chair and said calmly, “No.”
Then he said the sentence that made me sit up.
“They froze the accounts,” he whispered. “And there are people at the house.”
I stayed quiet, letting him unravel.
“Which accounts?” I asked.
“All of them,” he snapped. “Checking. Business line. Even the joint one. And the mortgage didn’t draft. They say I’m overdue. That makes no sense—I have money.”
“Our joint account?” I repeated softly.
He swallowed. “Yes.”
“Who’s ‘they’?” I asked.
“The bank. And some security guy. He says I need to leave the property during an ownership review.”
Ownership review.
Interesting.
“What did you do?” he demanded.
FOR ILLUSTRATIVE PURPOSE ONLY
I leaned forward. “Remember when you said it was your house?”
“Yes!” he shouted. “Because it is!”
“It isn’t,” I said calmly. “Not the way you think.”
His breathing turned erratic. “They’re talking about misrepresentation. What does that even mean?”
That meant Naomi had gone further than he realized.
“Did you tell your lawyer you bought the house alone?” I asked.
Silence.
“That’s what the deed says,” he finally muttered.
“And the down payment?” I asked.
“You transferred money once,” he said weakly. “That was just… your savings.”
I closed my eyes.
“That wasn’t savings,” I said. “That was my compensation.”
He laughed nervously. “From what? You’re a consultant.”
“I’m a senior executive,” I replied. “Last year, my compensation was $1.5 million.”
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