Chapter 5 Investigating Property

Natalie's POV

Four days after I got out of the hospital, I made a decision.

After Logan left in the morning, I got dressed and went to a law firm.

The lawyer who saw me was named Ralph Cook. He spoke in a calm, unhurried way. I laid out the situation — no crying, no drama, just the facts.

Ralph listened, pushed up his glasses, and said, "Mrs. Foster, I'd suggest we look into your husband's finances first."

"Look into what exactly?"

"Bank statements, property records. The biggest problem for stay-at-home wives in divorce cases is that they have no idea how much money is actually in the household."

I signed the authorization form, paid the fees, and Ralph said he'd have results within three days.

Three days later, I was back in Ralph's office.

A thick stack of printed papers was spread out in front of him, highlighted in several places.

"Mrs. Foster, take a look at this."

He slid a bank statement across the desk.

Logan's account. This past March. A transfer of $680,000. Recipient: Brianna. Note: Loan.

"There's more." Ralph flipped to another page. "This past June, a property on South River Bend Road, Lake Cove Courts — 87 square meters, transfer completed. Buyer: Brianna. Down payment: $650,000, sourced from that same transfer."

He pushed over a copy of the property registration.

The name Brianna, in black and white, plain as day.

Ralph pulled out another sheet. "Your husband's advertising company added a new shareholder this past August — 30% stake. Also, Brianna."

"That's not all." I reached into my bag and pulled out another document, setting it on the desk.

"I went through Logan's bank statements for the past three years myself. On top of the $680,000 transfer, there's another $200,000-plus in smaller payments — all labeled as consulting fees or service fees, but every one of them went to Brianna's personal account."

Ralph looked through my documents, his eyes slowly going wide. "Mrs. Foster — you found all this yourself?"

"Yes." I nodded. "I logged into the shared home computer and found bank records Logan forgot to delete. He's not a careful person. A lot of the transfers still had their notes attached."

"Can any of this money be recovered?" I asked.

"These funds are considered marital assets, so you can file for restitution. The increase in the company's value during the marriage is also divisible." Ralph paused. "But be prepared — it won't be a quick process."

"That's fine."

I packed the documents into my bag and stood up.

Walking out of the law firm, there was an emptiness in my chest, like something had been scooped out of me.

For five years, I wouldn't let myself buy anything over $500. He wired money to Brianna without blinking.

The next two days, I kept to the routine — cooking, picking up Aiden, talking to Logan. He came home late every night. The reason was always "work dinners."

I stopped asking.

Everything he said was a lie anyway. I was tired of feeling sick from hearing them.

On the fourth evening, Logan was putting on his shoes at the door. He turned and said, "Honey, I've got a deadline to hit at the office tonight. Might be really late — don't wait up."

He left.

I stood by the window and watched his car pull out of the complex. I waited five minutes, then called a ride.

Destination: the building where Logan's company was.

Twenty minutes later, I walked into the lobby and pressed the button for the fourteenth floor.

The receptionist looked up and blinked. "Natalie? What are you doing here?"

"Bringing Logan some soup." I held up the insulated bag.

"Mr. Logan... he's not in today."

"He's not?"

"No, he left in the afternoon. Said he had personal things to take care of." She tilted her head. "You didn't know?"

I smiled. "Right, I forgot. I'll just take the soup back home."

I didn't go home. I stood outside the building and texted Logan.

"Honey, I'm downstairs at your office. Brought you some soup. The receptionist says you're not here."

Less than ten seconds after I sent it, my phone rang.

"You went to the office?" Logan's voice had a barely-contained panic to it.

"You said you were working late. I thought I'd bring you something to drink."

"I — I had to step out to meet a client. Downtown South. Just go home, don't wait around there."

"Which client? I can come to you — I'm already out anyway."

"No, no, no!" He was flustered now. "These are big-shot clients, it'd be awkward if you showed up. Just go home, okay?"

There was a woman's voice in the background, soft, saying something I couldn't make out.

"Okay," I said. "Come home soon."

I hung up and opened the map on my phone.

Down south.

Lake Cove Courts was down south.

Brianna's place was down south.

I didn't go down south. I called a ride home.

Forty minutes later, the front door opened.

Logan appeared in the entryway, out of breath, shirt collar open, forehead covered in sweat.

I looked up from the couch. "Weren't you at a work dinner? Why'd you come rushing back?"

"I — I was worried about you. You said you went to the office looking for me, and I just got anxious. Didn't want you out there alone."

He walked over and reached out to hug me.

I shifted slightly to the side. His arms found nothing.

"Who was the client?" I asked.

"Just — a business partner. You wouldn't know them."

"Man or woman?"

The corner of Logan's mouth twitched. "A man. Obviously."

"Okay."

"Honey, do you not trust me?" He crouched down, looking up at my face. "You've been checking up on me a lot lately. You never used to do that."

I used to never check on anything. Never asked a single question. Gave him my complete trust.

And what did I get for it?

$680,000, a house, and a 30% stake in a company — all for another woman.

"You're overthinking it," I said, and stood up. "The soup's in the kitchen. Heat it yourself."

I walked into the bedroom and closed the door.

My phone buzzed.

A message from Ralph: "Mrs. Foster, the evidence materials for the transfers and the property have been compiled. You can come pick them up whenever you're ready."

I typed back one word: "Good."

Then I opened my chat with Logan, found his message saying "working late at the office," and took a screenshot.

Everything was in my hands now.

Just one last step.

I got up, opened the closet, and took out a small locked box. I transferred the screenshots from my phone to a USB drive, one by one.

The box already held the parking lot security footage, the bank card transaction records, and the bank statements and property documents Ralph had given me.

Each piece of evidence was like a brick.

He had been tearing this home apart, piece by piece.

I had been picking up the pieces, one by one, and building a wall.

The faster he tore things down, the stronger my wall became.

The day the wall was finished would be the day it was finally over.

From outside the door came the sound of Logan in the kitchen, heating up the soup — the spatula clinking against the pot.

I leaned back against the closet and closed my eyes for a moment.

Footsteps moved toward the bedroom.

Two knocks at the door.

"Honey, soup's ready. You want a bowl?"

"No thanks," I said. "I'm tired. Going to sleep."

I lay down on the bed and turned off the light.

In the dark, I lay there wide awake, turning that number over and over in my mind.

$680,000.

My dad spent twenty years hauling bricks on construction sites. The money he saved and gave us for our wedding was $200,000.

My own savings were $150,000.

All of it had gone in.

Into a home for him and another woman.

I thought about earlier this year, when Logan told me the company needed cash flow and asked me to cash out my parents' fixed deposit.

I agreed without a second thought.

Did that money find its way to her, too?

I turned over and pressed my face into the pillow.

No tears.

I'd stopped crying a long time ago.

Crying is the most useless thing in the world.