That night, I slid my laptop towards Troy while he watched the news.
“Did you move money from the checking account?”
She barely looked up from the television. “I paid the bills.”
"How much?"
There was no mistake.
“A couple of thousand. It balances out.”
“Where?” I turned the screen.
“Troy, this is a lot. Where is all this going?”
He rubbed his forehead, his eyes still on the television. “The usual… things for the house, bills. I move money around sometimes, you know. It’ll come back.”
I wanted to pressure him, but after a lifetime of knowing this man, I knew that an argument at that moment would only build walls.
So I waited.
I wanted to pressure him.
A week later, the remote control ran out of batteries in the middle of a show I was watching. I went to Troy's desk to get some batteries.
I opened the drawer and found a neat stack of hotel receipts stored under some old mail.
Now, Troy sometimes traveled to California, so I wasn't worried until I saw that the hotel was in Massachusetts.
Each receipt was from the same hotel, the same room number… the dates went back months.
I sat on the edge of the bed, staring at them until my hands went numb.
Each receipt was from the same hotel.
I kept trying to think of logical reasons for him to travel to Massachusetts, and I still couldn't find any.
I counted them. Eleven receipts. Eleven trips I had lied about.
My chest felt tight. My hands trembled as I dialed the hotel's number on my phone.
“Good afternoon. How can I help you?”
“Hello,” I said, forcing my voice to stay steady. I gave him Troy’s full name and explained that I was his new assistant. “I need to reserve his usual room.”
I dialed the hotel's number on my phone.
“Of course,” the concierge said without hesitation. “He’s a regular. That room is basically reserved for him. When would you like to check in?”
I couldn't breathe.
“I… will call again,” I managed to say, and hung up.
