My father-in-law burned my six-month pregnant belly with his cigarette while my husband held my wrists—and his mother and sister sat at my New Year’s table watching. Then Grant ordered me out of “his house.” What none of them remembered was that the penthouse, the dinner, and almost every luxury they enjoyed had been paid for by me.

"What kind of problem?" I asked, my heartrate picking up pace with the fetal monitor.

"I found a home equity line of credit," Vivian’s voice echoed through the small ER room.

I frowned, confusion overriding my fear. "That’s impossible, Vivian. You know that. The penthouse doesn't have a mortgage. I bought it outright five years ago with my Series D stock options."

"I know," Vivian replied, her voice dropping to a grim register. "But there is a line of credit. For eight hundred and fifty thousand dollars."

The room spun. Detective Morales stopped writing and stepped closer to the bed.

"Against my penthouse?" I asked, the words feeling like ash in my mouth.

"Yes. Opened eleven months ago," Vivian confirmed.

"That would require my signature. I never signed anything like that. Ever."

"It has your signature on it, Claire. Or at least, a perfect forgery of it. There were three massive withdrawals. Two hundred thousand. Three hundred thousand. And then another three hundred and fifty thousand."

My mouth went completely dry. Eleven months ago. That was right around the time Ryan had surprised me with a romantic weekend getaway, claiming we needed to reconnect. He had taken my phone for a "digital detox."

"Where did my money go?" I demanded.

Vivian paused, and I could hear the clicking of her keyboard. "The first transfer went directly to a holding company. GRC Holdings."

I stared blankly at the hospital wall. G. R. C.

Grant. Ryan. Cole. Ryan’s middle name was Cole.

"Who owns it?" Morales interjected, her detective instincts taking over.

"I’m running the shell company registry now," Vivian answered. "But the second transfer went through a labyrinth of accounts before landing in a private investment partnership called Bennett Strategic Ventures."

I let out a hollow, bitter laugh. "Bennett. My married name. And let me guess, I don't own it?"

"You have zero equity in it," Vivian said. "But the final transfer is why I told you not to answer Ryan's calls."

"Tell me."

"Three hundred and fifty thousand dollars was wired exactly four days ago," Vivian said.

Four days ago. While I was ordering vintage champagne for our New Year's dinner. While Ryan was kissing my neck and telling me how much he loved our life together.