The following Monday, I found myself sitting at our dining room table, a cup of coffee growing cold beside me. I had spent the weekend reviewing old bank statements and tax documents, searching for any clues that might explain the sudden shift in our finances.
Every receipt, every note, told a story I had missed. The amounts varied, sometimes small, sometimes significant, all leading to accounts I’d never heard of. The pattern wasn’t random; it was methodical, precise.
I decided to call a friend who worked as a financial analyst. “Hey, do you have a minute?” I asked when she picked up. “I need some advice on something financial.”
Her voice was reassuring over the line, “Of course. What’s going on?”
I explained the situation, careful to keep my voice steady. Her response was a mix of concern and curiosity. “You should definitely consult with a lawyer,” she advised. “You need to understand your rights here.”
As I ended the call, I jotted down ‘lawyer consultation’ on a notepad, a step toward clarity in this tangled mess. The room felt quiet, almost too quiet, as if the walls were absorbing the secrets I was uncovering.
Later that night, I approached my spouse, laptop open to a spreadsheet of figures. “We need to talk,” I said, trying to sound casual. The words hung between us, heavy with unspoken questions.
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