“Three weeks.”
“During that time, did he have access to your accounts? Documents? Identification?”
My skin went cold.
“We were planning a wedding. He had copies of everything. Bank statements for venue financing, my Social Security number for apartment applications, tax records because we were discussing buying a condo.”
Lorenzo looked out the window.
I did not like his silence.
“What?” I demanded.
“It may be nothing.”
“Do not do that.”
His gaze returned to mine.
“It may be identity fraud.”
The words landed with quiet devastation.
Not dramatic. Not cinematic. Just plausible enough to be terrifying.
I thought of bills I had ignored because grief made envelopes feel impossible. Credit notifications I had assumed were marketing. A strange call from a bank last month that I dismissed as spam.
“How could I not know?”
“Because people who trust someone rarely inventory the tools of betrayal until after they are used.”
My throat tightened.
The car turned into a sleek residential building near South Lake Union. Glass balconies rose into the gray afternoon. Tobias pulled into the underground garage.
“We don’t make a scene,” Lorenzo said.
I almost smiled despite everything.
“Do you ever?”
“Only when necessary.”
We rode the elevator to the twenty-second floor. My heart pounded so hard I could feel it in my fingertips.
Ethan opened the door before we knocked.
He looked surprised for half a second.
Then he smiled.
“Olivia,” he said. “This is unexpected.”
His gaze shifted to Lorenzo.
“Mr. Moretti. Twice in two days. People will talk.”
“Where is Chloe?” I asked.
Ethan’s smile softened into concern so polished it made me sick.
“She’s resting. She’s had an emotional morning.”
“I want to see her.”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
I stepped forward.
Lorenzo did not touch me, did not speak, but his presence at my shoulder changed the air.
Ethan noticed. His eyes hardened.
From inside the condo came Chloe’s voice.
“It’s okay.”
She appeared behind him, pale but unharmed, arms wrapped around herself. Relief hit me so sharply I nearly swayed.
“Chloe,” I said.
She looked at Ethan, then at me.
“I’m fine.”
But her eyes said something else.
Ethan opened the door wider with theatrical patience.
“Come in, then. Since everyone is determined to be dramatic.”
The condo was immaculate in the way Ethan liked things to be immaculate—gray furniture, expensive art, no visible clutter, nothing soft enough to reveal actual living. Chloe stood near the kitchen island. A tablet lay on the counter behind her.
Ethan saw me notice it.
“That’s private,” he said.
“So was my bed,” I replied.
The words slipped out before I could stop them.
Chloe flinched.
Ethan’s face flushed.
Lorenzo’s mouth did not move, but something like approval passed through his eyes.
“I think everyone needs to calm down,” Ethan said. “Chloe misunderstood a few documents.”
“What documents?” Lorenzo asked.
Ethan turned to him.
“With respect, this is a family matter.”
“With respect,” Lorenzo said, “no, it isn’t.”
The room went silent.