“At first.”
“How long have you been involved with him?”
“Six years.”
Six years.
I thought of anniversaries.
Christmas mornings.
Hospital visits.
The nights I’d held his hand and prayed he’d survive.
For six years, Celeste had known exactly where he went when he left our house.
I asked, “Did you know the medical bills were false?”
She closed her eyes.
“Some of them.”
“Did you prepare the documents with my signature?”
“I handled paperwork Mark supplied.”
“That’s not an answer.”
She looked at Miriam.
“I want protection before I say more.”
Miriam explained that any cooperation arrangement involving potential criminal liability would require appropriate legal representation and prosecutors.
Celeste pressed her lips together.
Then she opened her briefcase.
Inside was a ledger.
A real ledger.
Not the polished summaries Vanessa had copied.
Handwritten entries documented transfers among companies, charitable accounts, and personal expenses.
Several pages recorded payments for Mark’s supposed medical treatment.
