Chapter 5 - The Gathering at the Office
Two days later, on a Tuesday afternoon, I received a text message from an unknown number while sitting at my desk in my home office.
“We need to talk. Coffee at the Starbucks on Grandview Ave. 3:00 PM. Don't bring Daniel.”
It was from Scott.
I checked the clock. It was 1:45 PM. I hadn't spoken to Daniel since Sunday night. He had slept on the basement sofa, avoided my gaze at breakfast, and left for his firm at 7:00 AM without a word. The three thousand dollars was still missing from our joint savings account, though he had sent a panicked text message that morning reading: “I called the club. I’m canceling the membership and getting a full refund. Please don't do anything rash.”
I didn't reply to him. But I did reply to Scott.
“I’ll be there at 3.”
When I walked into the Grandview Starbucks, the autumn air was crisp and smelled of damp leaves and roasted espresso beans. Scott was sitting in a corner booth near the window, wearing his casual Friday golf polo—even though it was Tuesday. He looked exhausted. Dark circles bruised the skin beneath his eyes, and his hair was uncombed.
I slid into the vinyl booth across from him. He didn't look up immediately. He was staring down at a white paper cup, turning it in circles between his palms.
"Thanks for coming, Emily," Scott muttered, finally raising his eyes.
"You said it was important, Scott. And honestly, after Sunday night, I think we all need some clarity."
Scott let out a dry, humorless chuckle. "Clarity. Yeah. That’s one word for it. Melissa has been screaming at me for forty-eight hours straight. She says I ruined her family dinner, that I took your side, that I'm a traitor."
"And what do you think?" I asked, keeping my voice neutral.
Scott sighed, leaning back and running a hand over his face. "I think Melissa is a bully, Emily. I’ve known it for years, but I never had the guts to say it out loud because whenever I do, she threatens to take the kids and move back to her mother’s house."
I didn't say anything. I let him talk. People like Scott—suppressed, beaten-down spouses of narcissists—just needed a safe space to unload the cargo they’d been carrying for a decade.
"Except..." Scott continued, looking up at me with a strange, nervous glint in his eye. "Except she can't move back to her mother’s house anymore, can she? Not after the way Diane yelled at her on Sunday."
"Diane was furious, Scott. She’s had enough of Melissa’s cruelty."
"Which brings me to why I asked you here," Scott said, leaning forward and lowering his voice. He reached into his leather briefcase, pulled out a manila folder, and slid it across the small round table.
"What is this?" I asked, looking down at the folder.
"Bank statements," Scott said grimly. "And mortgage documents. Daniel called me yesterday morning. He was panicked. He told me everything about the three thousand dollars for the country club. He was terrified you were going to divorce him."
"He has good reason to be terrified," I said coldly.
"I know. But what Daniel didn't know—what none of us knew until yesterday morning—is where Daniel got the idea to pull that money from your joint account in the first place."
My eyes narrowed. "What are you talking about?"
Scott tapped a finger against the manila folder. "Open it, Emily."
I unclasped the metal prongs and pulled out the papers inside. The top sheet was a printout of an email thread between two email addresses: [email protected] and [email protected], dated three weeks ago.
I started reading.
Melissa: 'D, you need to step up your game. Everyone at the club thinks you're broke. Brad Jenkins just joined and bought a boat. If you don't join the club by next month, Emily is going to look down on you even more than she already does.'
Daniel: 'Mel, we don't have three grand lying around. Emily is saving for Mom’s Napa trip.'
Melissa: 'Take it from your secret account. She’ll never notice until it’s too long. And if she does, just gaslight her. It’s what you’re good at.'
My blood turned to ice water.
I stared at the screen capture of the email, my hands trembling slightly against the paper. Melissa hadn't just stumbled upon Daniel’s secret plan. She had invented it. She had orchestrated the whole thing, pushed my husband into financial infidelity, and then waited like a spider in a web for the exact right moment at Sunday dinner to spring the trap and humiliate me in front of the entire family.
"She set him up," I whispered, the realization hitting me like a physical blow. "She set both of us up."
"She wanted to blow up your marriage," Scott said quietly, his voice shaking with suppressed rage. "Because she hates that you have a nice house, a husband who—despite being an idiot—actually tries, and a life she can't control. She wanted to prove that your life is just as miserable as hers."
I looked up from the papers, meeting Scott’s eyes. The fear in his face had vanished, replaced by something cold and resolute.
"What are you going to do, Scott?" I asked.
Scott reached into the folder and pulled out a second document—a legal-looking paper with a county seal stamped at the bottom.
"I went to a lawyer yesterday morning," Scott said steadily. "And then I went to the bank. Melissa thinks she’s the only one who knows how to manipulate people. But she forgot one very important detail."
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"What detail?"
"She forgot," Scott said, a grim smile touching his lips, "that I’m the one whose name is on the mortgage for her precious Dublin house. And I just filed for divorce."
