My Husband Was Kissing Our Married Neighbor in Our Pool—So I Opened the Gate and Let His Worst Nightmare Drive In

Margaret Whitmore was not the kind of woman who arrived unexpectedly.

She was the kind of woman who made appointments three weeks in advance, expected everyone to arrive ten minutes early, and considered an unanswered telephone call a personal insult.

So when she stepped onto our patio without waiting for an invitation, I knew something serious had happened.

Her attorney, Daniel Reeves, followed her.

He carried a leather briefcase.

Ethan looked between them.

“Mom, why is Daniel here?””

Margaret removed her sunglasses.

“Because I asked him to come.””

“About what?””

“Your future.””

Ethan gave a short, nervous laugh.

“Can we please not do this in front of everyone?””

Margaret glanced at Brooke.

“I agree. Your guest should probably leave.””

Brooke tightened the towel around her shoulders.

“I think I should go.””

I looked at her.

“That's probably wise.””

She gathered her clothes from the lounge chair.

Ethan immediately stepped toward her.

“Brooke, wait.””

Margaret's voice stopped him.

“Sit down, Ethan.””

He turned.

“Excuse me?””

“I said sit down.””

For a moment, I saw the little boy he must have been when Margaret was angry.

He lowered himself into a patio chair.

Daniel placed his briefcase on the outdoor table.

I watched Brooke struggle with the strap of her handbag.

She looked at me.

“Nicole, I really am sorry.””

I picked up the broken grocery bag.

“Were you sorry before or after you took your clothes off?””

She flinched.

Ethan stood again.

“Enough! Brooke didn't force me into anything.””

Margaret's eyes narrowed.

“That's an interesting defense.””

“Mom, this is between Nicole and me.””

“No,” Margaret replied.

“It stopped being between you and Nicole when you began using family resources to finance your little afternoon arrangements.””

The patio became silent.

I looked at her.

“What family resources?””

Ethan's face changed.

“Mother.””

Margaret ignored him.

“Daniel?””

The attorney opened his briefcase and removed a thick folder.

“Mrs. Whitmore, I have the documents you requested.””

Ethan stared at the folder.

“What's that?””

“An accounting of certain transactions,” Daniel replied.

Ethan laughed.

“This is ridiculous.””

Daniel placed several printed pages on the table.

“Over the last fourteen months, approximately $286,000 was transferred from Whitmore Development accounts into an entity registered under the name B. Mitchell Consulting.””

Brooke stopped moving.

I slowly turned toward her.

“B. Mitchell?””

Her handbag slipped from her shoulder.

Ethan stood so abruptly that his chair scraped across the stone.

“Daniel, that's confidential company information.””

Daniel adjusted his glasses.

“It's also information that concerns the majority shareholder.””

Margaret sat down.

“Go on.””

Daniel turned another page.

“The consulting company received payments for services that were never documented. Several invoices were approved using Mr. Whitmore's authorization.””

I looked at Ethan.

“You paid her?””

He rubbed his forehead.

“Nicole, it's not what you think.””

I laughed once.

“That's becoming your favorite sentence.””

Brooke shook her head.

“I didn't know where the money came from.””

Margaret turned toward her.

“You accepted almost three hundred thousand dollars, and you never wondered why a woman who supposedly ran a small interior-design business was being paid by a construction company?””

Brooke's eyes filled with tears.

“Ethan said it was legitimate.””

Ethan snapped.

“Brooke, shut up.””

She stared at him.

For the first time, I saw something other than embarrassment on her face.

Fear.

Daniel slid another document toward Margaret.

“There is also the matter of the property.””

Margaret's expression hardened.

“What property?””

Daniel pointed to the address.

My stomach tightened.

It was our house.

The house Ethan and I had purchased six years earlier.

The house where our children had learned to ride bicycles.

The house where I had painted the nursery twice because Ethan disliked the first color.

I leaned forward.

“Why is our address in that folder?””

Daniel looked at me.

“Because an application was submitted to refinance the property.””

I turned toward Ethan.

“You refinanced our house?””

He didn't answer.

Margaret removed another sheet.

“The application lists a debt of $1.4 million.””

I stared at her.

“That can't be right.””

“It isn't,” Daniel said.

“At least, not according to the documents we have.””

Ethan rubbed his jaw.

“It's a business arrangement.””

I felt cold.

“What business arrangement?””

He finally looked at me.

“Nicole, I was going to tell you.””

“When?””

“Soon.””

“When, Ethan? After the bank took the house?””

His silence answered me.

Margaret pushed her chair back.

“Daniel, explain the ownership structure.””

The attorney opened another folder.

“This property was purchased partly through funds provided by the Whitmore Family Trust. The title is held through a separate property company.””

I frowned.

I knew the arrangement. Margaret had helped us purchase the house when Ethan's business was struggling. She had insisted that the trust protect the property until the original loan was paid.

But I had never questioned the details.

Daniel continued.

“The refinancing application attempts to transfer the property into an entity controlled by Mr. Whitmore.””

Ethan's face went white.

“That's not true.””

Daniel placed the signature page on the table.

“Would you like to explain this signature?””

I looked down.

My name was at the bottom.

Nicole Whitmore.

It looked exactly like my signature.

Except I had never signed it.