“Wasn’t that bad, was it?” I said sarcastically.

Kim and I both headed out of Geoff’s house and got back in the car. I started searching for ‘Sterling and Fishwick’ and found their closest branch. I started the navigation on my phone and pulled away.

“Are they just going to give you access to the account?” Kim asked.

“I have the probate documents on my phone. They legally have to if it was in Harry’s name,” I said.

“How much do you think he has in there?”

“I’m not sure. I wouldn’t put anything past him, to be honest.”

We were only in the car for a few minutes before we arrived. It was a tiny little bank that I’d not even heard of before, and there were only two counters inside. I walked over to the counter, and the cashier greeted me with a smile.

“Welcome to Sterling and Fishwick. How can I help?” she smiled.

“Hi,” I gulped, “so I’ve just been made aware my husband had an account here. Regrettably, he’s no longer with us, and I’d like access to it.”

“I’m so sorry to hear that. Unfortunately, we require some identification, and we will need to see your grant of probate.”

“I have it right here,” I said, and showed the cashier the documents on my phone.

“Please bear with me for one minute; I just need to speak to my supervisor.”

The cashier disappeared through a door behind the counter for a few minutes, taking my phone and identification with her. She returned with a man in an immaculate and well-fitting suit and it was him who was now holding the documents with an awkward smile.

“Hi, Amelia. Firstly, I’m so sorry for your loss,” he said.

“Thanks,” I uttered.

“Your husband had a few accounts with us, with a not insubstantial amount spread across them. He also had a deposit box with us at this branch,” he explained.

“A deposit box?” I asked.

“Yes, ma’am. And given the circumstances, I will be able to open it for you. If you would like to follow me.”

The man walked around the counter and led me through a series of doors into a fairly large room; each of the four walls was made entirely of little steel doors. He unlocked one of them with two keys from his jacket pocket, removed the box inside, and placed it on a large table in the centre of the room.

“I’ll give you some privacy,” he said as he left the room.

I took a deep breath before I’d even touched the box on the table, and I placed the anti-anxiety pills from my bag next to it in preparation. I was terrified of what I would find inside. The box wasn’t very heavy, so I shook it lightly, and the contents rattled inside. I slowly lifted the handle to open the box, and to be honest, it was a bit of an anti-climax. The vast majority of it was paperwork. Endless printouts and handwritten logs of every fraudulent transaction Harry had made. I removed the stack of papers, and I leafed through them aimlessly, barely understanding a single line. The scale of it was far worse than I’d imagined, though. Some of the transactions dated before we even got married.

I sat on the floor and tried to concentrate on piecing together what I was looking at. It looked like a ledger, showing the ins and outs of Harry’s illegal dealings. He started small, at first, a few thousand here or there, and he was returning the money before it had been missed. As the ledger continued, the amounts got larger and more frequent, and it was impossible to track if he ever returned it or not. It told a story, the approximate dates I could correlate to events in our lives. The first withdrawals started just before our wedding and then again when we were looking for a flat. When we started IVF, he had stolen the exact amount from someone’s pension to pay for it. Then it became a mess, and the numbers were almost frantically scratched into the paper rather than written.

Harry had made his last entry a few days before his death, and he wasn’t even meant to be in Leeds at the time, but at his new job in Manchester. I couldn’t help but think I’d forced him into this. Every time I moaned about not going out often enough or every unreasonable request I made for our wedding, he happily obliged. Even the house, when he wrote down the offer number, I nearly had a heart attack, but he seemed so sure. I decided to return the papers where I had found them and leave them buried for now. I had too much going on in my life, and unduly worrying about the repercussions of his creative accounting wasn’t high on my list of priorities.

When I stood back up to return the ledger, I noticed there was a small envelope taped to the bottom of the deposit box. I unpicked the tape and opened the envelope. Inside there were two matching yet non-descript keys, which just looked like any regular ones, but there was no writing on them or any distinguishing features of any kind. I turned the envelope over and a hastily written phone number in Harry’s handwriting was scrawled on the front.

I took out my phone, entered the digits carefully, and clicked call. The number was already saved in my contacts list, and the digits were replaced by the name I had set for it.

“Calling Psychic James,” it read.

XIV

THE CHARIOT

HARRY - BEFORE

Click. My finger continued pressing the button on the mouse, and the edge of my fingernail went white with the sheer force I was inflicting on it. I released it, and after a short loading animation on the laptop screen, confirmation of the completed transfer popped up on it. I had dabbled in this before, but in relatively tiny amounts, and I’d always transferred the money back before it was missed. However, that transfer was altogether different, mainly because of the number of zeroes in the figure. With one simple click of a button, I now had the funds to repay the Broadheads in full, enough money for the house, and enough change to give Becky a final payment in exchange for leaving me alone.

I never wanted to have to do that, but I always knew it was the nuclear option if everything else went awry. I was operating under the assumption that if I kept the amounts low, the withdrawals irregular, and I replaced the money quickly, I would go undetected. I’d also borrow little amounts from various accounts just to try and cover my tracks, but none of my clients had enough money in their accounts to cover what I needed that day, apart from one. Just before I got married, a retired doctor had walked into the office, wanting to redistribute his finances to get the most out of his retirement. He said he had sizeable savings, but I didn’t believe the figure when I saw it. I made a note of his account details and kept it safe just in case I ever needed it.

Part of me must have thought I’d need those details someday, but I never wanted to use them. However, I didn’t see any other option. It wasn’t long before the Broadheads would be knocking on my door, trying to collect the debt. It had been a few weeks since I had the argument with Amelia, and I was due to start my new job on the following Monday. I just needed to keep the plates spinning for a few months, and I’d be able to start replacing all the money I’d taken without anyone noticing.

I felt like my marriage was strained, but Amelia hadn’t mentioned the incident. I tried bringing it up, but she refused to believe that it even happened. She would change the subject right away. Something must have got through, though, because she hadn’t laid a finger on me since. I had plans of staging a big intervention and telling her exactly how I felt about it all, but I always chickened out at the last minute. Without the help she needed, I was worried that she would backslide into the same pattern of abuse, though I was trying to remain positive. I hadn’t seen her touch a drop of alcohol ever since, and I was careful not to bring any back to the house. She continued to take her prescribed tablets, and I stopped opposing them. I didn’t think they were doing her any good, but whatever she needed to do to remain calm, I was fine with it. I just desperately needed to hold everything together for a few more weeks. Besides, the new house was due to be completed on the following Monday, so it was going to be a big week for us both. I thought the change in scenery and job would have a beneficial and calming effect on us, as it would at least pave the way for our marriage to become healthy again.

Even though I had just committed some pretty heavy fraud, a weight felt like it had been lifted off my shoulders. All the financial mistakes I’d made in the previous weeks had been corrected, and I’d definitely learned my lesson. I shut my laptop with a congratulatory smile, and Amelia was standing behind it with her arms crossed. She suggested we go out and celebrate with lunch. I accepted because I thought it would be an air-clearing opportunity that could hopefully help us get back to normal.

“Are you ready now?” she asked.

“Yeah, all done. Where do you want to go?” I asked.

“I thought we could go somewhere for a spot of lunch.”

“Sounds good!” I enthused.

We walked down to the bar near the park, and during the rare times we visited, I’d always loved going there. Places like that could never exist in Filey; they were all little quirky pubs that hadn’t seen a paintbrush in decades. It was a fashionable and happening place, full of twenty-somethings and Mancunian executives enjoying their lunchtimes. I’d be joining their ranks shortly once I started my new job. I’d spent the last few weeks dreading the start of every day, but I had so much to be grateful for, really. Maybe Amelia was right, and a celebration was long overdue.

I sat across from Amelia and stared at her as she perused the menu. She was beautiful. And I loved her. Maybe the last few months were just a blip, and there was finally some light at the end of the tunnel. Once we had a little family of our own, and our money troubles were a thing of the past, perhaps everything would be okay.

“What can I get you?” the waiter asked.

“I’ll just have the chicken burger, please, and a glass of coke,” I responded, “Amelia?”

“I’ll have the same,” Amelia replied, closing her menu. The waiter scribbled our order down and walked away with a courteous smile.

“I love you, Amelia,” I said.

“I love you, too,” she smiled.

“Listen, about everything that happened a few weeks ago, I don’t want to bring it up, but I can see you are making an effort.”

“An effort?”

“Yeah, and I just want to thank you.”

Amelia didn’t really respond; she just exhaled through her nose and smiled awkwardly. I was discomfited by her reaction, but we were good at that moment, and I didn’t want to ruin it. I didn’t need her to admit what she had been doing. I just needed her to change for the better. The waiter arrived with our cokes and placed them on the table. Amelia lifted hers in cheers, and I followed suit.