Page 20 of Desolation

“I’ll be there as fast as I can.”

“I’m not staying at that hotel.”

He clicks his tongue before his voice becomes stern. “Where the hell are you?”

I rattle off an address close to the shelter.

“What the hell are you doing out there?”

I look over at Rochelle. “I’ll tell you later.”

I hang up without saying anything.

Rochelle helps me sneak out of the shelter without anyone noticing. I find a café that’s still open near where I told Dax to pick me up and I sit and wait for him. Hoping I didn’t fuck myself over.

Chapter Seven

Mari

I pace the living room as Dax stares at me waiting for answers. I was silent most of the drive here. I didn’t know what to tell him. I am caught up in so many lies. But if I tell him the truth, I don’t want it putting him in danger. Of course, the fact that I think whatever information in that file is dangerous is worrying enough.

How the hell did I get here?

Six months ago, I was sitting in my office, ready to close up shop for Christmas and New Year’s. I had everything tied up in a bow for the New Year’s Eve Gala my foundation was having. My kids were with their father at his parent’s mansion, ready for Christmas. I was supposed to grab my things and head out west to their property. My bags were packed in my car in the garage. My formal dresses for the Christmas Eve and Christmas Day parties were in the closet in my office. I turned my computer off and was about to stand when my CFO knocked on my door.

She came to me with documents showing huge deposits in the seven-figure range. No one would ever donate that much. Never in the ten years I had been running the foundation had anyone done so. And now there were three large deposits sitting in my accounts. Rebecca, my CFO was just as confused as I was. We spent three hours trying to source the companies but came up with nothing.

I called my husband to tell him I was going to be late. That I had to deal with something for the gala that had me stuck in the office. I didn’t know what to think or who to blame. I hoped it was an accounting error but my gut told me no. That was the first time I searched Michael’s office. And I found nothing. When I got to his parent’s house, I pretended everything was okay and went on with my life as usual. It wasn’t until the New Year’s Eve Gala when Michael made an offhand comment that made me doubt everything.

“Any day now.” Dax says impatiently.

I eye the bourbon or whiskey or scotch, whatever the hell he has sitting on a table in the corner and walk over to it and pour three fingers. I down it all at once, coughing from the taste. Definitely scotch. I pour a glass for each of us, with less in it and walk over to the expansive island he is sitting at.

“That file isn’t from my office.”

He takes a sip of scotch and brushes his hand through his hair. “No shit.”

I tilt my head to the side. “How—?”

“Oh no, please. You go first,” he says shrewdly.

“Those files were in Michael’s home office.” His eyes darken but I continue, giving him as much truth as I can. “I found it with the name of my foundation on it and thought it was weird."

"So that made you hide out in a women’s shelter?” I told him that part of the story in the car on the way back to his house. He wasn’t happy. He wished I had told him when I first talked to him so he could have given me a code for his home. But I told him I wouldn’t have put him at risk. “Is that why you changed your identity?”

I shake my head. “There were deposits made into my foundation. Large deposits. I have no idea how they were made or who the companies were. I couldn’t find anything. I was hoping that file had answers. But when I started snooping around a month ago, I felt like I was being followed.”

“Shit Mar. You think Michael is to blame for this?”

I shrug. “I don’t know. But his family knows powerful people.”

“If this has something to do with his family, if they are laundering money, why would they use your foundation?”

I sip my scotch. I don’t even know if I should tell him. But I don’t feel like I have much left to lose. “I asked for a divorce.”

“Really?” he asks perplexed. “I thought you two were happy. Hell, you sent me an invite to your New Year’s Eve Gala hosted by the two of you.”

I was happy. At one point. Hell, I was willing to work things out with him. I bite my lip. “You can’t say anything.”

---