“I was reviewing your account before coming out here, and I think there’s something you need to see.”
Behind me, Paige spoke immediately.
“Valerie, this really isn’t necessary.”
Valerie didn’t look at her.
“Mrs.
Whitlock is the primary account holder.”
Paige’s voice hardened.
“We can discuss membership details another time.”
I turned slowly.
Until that moment, Paige had seemed furious.
Now she seemed nervous.
It was a small change.
But I noticed.
Valerie held out the papers.
“May we speak privately?”
I looked at my wet clothes.
Then at Grant.
Then at Paige.
“No,” I said.
“I think I’d like to see whatever you have right here.”
Valerie paused.
Then she handed me the first page.
It was an account statement.
At the top was my name.
Beneath it were appointments stretching back eleven months.
Massages.
Facials.
Mineral suites.
Body treatments.
Overnight packages.
Twenty-three treatments in total.
Eleven were listed under Paige Whitlock.
Twelve were listed under Diane Mercer.
At the bottom was a figure.
$18,742.
I read it once.
Then again.
I remembered the afternoon Paige complained about her back.
She had been sitting at my kitchen table, shifting uncomfortably in her chair.
I told her she should get a massage.
She said she couldn’t justify spending money on something like that.
I offered to let her use my Juniper House membership for one appointment.
One massage.
One small gesture from a mother-in-law who wanted to be kind.
I never authorized twenty-three treatments.
“Valerie,” I said, “there must be a mistake.”
She shook her head.
“I wish there were.”
I turned the page.
There were dates.
Guest names.
Treatment descriptions.
Payment confirmations.
I looked at Paige.
“Did you know about this?”
She rolled her eyes.
“Oh, for heaven’s sake.
You told me I could use the membership.”
“For one massage.”
“You never said there was a limit.”
I stared at her.
“You thought that meant you could spend nearly nineteen thousand dollars?”
Diane finally stood.
“Marian, there’s no need to be vulgar about money.”
I looked at her.
“Vulgar?”
She adjusted the belt of her robe.
“These were wellness treatments.
You’re making them sound like some terrible extravagance.”
I turned back to the statement.
Then I noticed the payment details.
The card listed wasn’t my personal credit card.
It belonged to Northstar Residential Group.
I felt the room tilt slightly.
“Why,” I asked, “is Northstar paying for this?”
Grant stepped closer.
“What?”
I showed him.
His expression changed.
“That shouldn’t be possible.”
“Apparently it is.”
He took the page.
His eyes moved rapidly across the transactions.
“That’s a corporate reserve card.”
“I know what it is, Grant.”
Paige reached for the paper.
“This is being made into something it’s not.”
I moved it out of her reach.
“What is it, then?”
She folded her arms.
“An accounting issue.”
“An accounting issue involving eighteen thousand dollars of spa treatments?”
“Grant can sort it out.”
For the first time, I noticed my son wasn’t looking at me.
He was looking at his wife.
“Paige,” he said slowly, “how did you get access to that card?”
She stiffened.
“I didn’t.”
“Then how did the charges happen?”
“I don’t handle the company’s accounting.”
Valerie cleared her throat.
“There is something else.”
She handed me another sheet.
It was an email.
The sender appeared to be an old Northstar administrative account.
The message authorized Paige to use my membership.
It ended with my name.
Marian Whitlock.
I turned the page.
Another authorization.
Another appointment.
Another signature.
My signature.
Except I hadn’t written any of them.
I hadn’t used that administrative email account in years.
“These aren’t mine,” I whispered.
Valerie nodded carefully.
“That’s why I wanted to speak with you.”
Grant took the pages.
He read the email address.
Then he looked at Paige.
“You know that password.”
“Grant.”
“You used that account when you were helping organize the office records.”
“Grant, stop.”
“Did you send these?”
She glanced toward the other guests.
“Are you seriously going to interrogate me in front of strangers?”
He didn’t answer.
I looked down at my phone.
At the message from 8:17 that morning.
Then I held it toward him again.
“Did you send this?”
Grant read it.
His face went pale.
“No.”
“Are you sure?”
“Mom, I didn’t send that.”
The room became very quiet.
Someone had invited me to Juniper House.
Someone had used my name to authorize treatments I never approved.
Someone had arranged for those treatments to be charged to Northstar.
And Paige had attacked me the moment I arrived.
I looked at her.
She looked away.
For the first time, I wondered whether the slap had been about more than resentment.
Maybe Paige hadn’t simply wanted me gone.
Maybe she had needed everyone to believe I was the problem before I discovered what she’d been doing.
I gathered the papers.
“Valerie, I’d like copies of everything.”
“Of course.”
“And please don’t make any changes to the account records.”
“I understand.”
Paige laughed sharply.
“You’re being ridiculous.”
I didn’t answer.
Grant reached toward me.
“Mom, wait.”
I stepped away.
“You asked me to leave.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
“Yes,” I said.
“It is.”
I walked through the glass doors.
Outside, the Santa Fe sunlight struck my wet blouse.
The afternoon air felt warm against my skin.
I sat in my car for several minutes before starting the engine.
My cheek still burned.
But I wasn’t thinking about the slap anymore.
I was thinking about the papers.
About Russell.
About Northstar.
And about how easily I had mistaken stepping back for keeping my family safe.
When I got home, I changed into dry clothes and laid the spa statements across my kitchen table.
Then I called Celeste.
Celeste had been Northstar’s financial controller for almost fifteen years.
Russell trusted her.
So did I.
She answered on the second ring.
“Marian.”
Something in her voice made me sit down.
“Celeste, I need to ask you about some corporate card charges.”
There was a pause.
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