Chapter 3 - THE CHARGE FROM SOUTH BEACH
On December 31, I finished the final machinery inspection shortly after midnight German time. My return flight was scheduled for January 4, but I had already begun searching for an earlier seat. I told myself I wanted to surprise Maya and hold my son for the first time.
The truth was that the eleven seconds of silence would not leave me alone.
While waiting for the inspection report to upload, I opened the family banking account. There were charges for groceries, a pharmacy, baby supplies, and a heating repair company. Those were expected.
Then I saw a pending charge for $4,860.
Ocean Crest Resort, South Beach.
The card belonged to Chloe.
Another charge appeared beneath it for three plane tickets from New York to Miami. A third showed a luxury car service from Miami International Airport.
I called Chloe.
She rejected the call.
I called Mark.
His phone went straight to voicemail.
Then I called my mother.
Music pounded in the background when she answered. I could hear laughter, glasses, and someone shouting about a pool reservation.
“Where are you?” I asked.
“At the apartment.”
“Put Maya on.”
“She’s sleeping.”
Behind Eleanor, a man yelled, “South Beach, baby!”
My mother stepped somewhere quieter. “David, don’t start. Chloe has been under enormous stress, and the resort had a last-minute family package.”
“You left Maya alone?”
“She isn’t helpless.”
“She had surgery eleven days ago.”
“Women have been giving birth forever. Maya enjoys making everything dramatic because she knows you’ll throw money at her.”
My hand tightened around the phone.
“Is Liam with her?”
“Of course. Where else would he be?”
“What did you do with the money I sent?”
“We bought what she needed.”
I opened the smart-home application connected to our apartment. The thermostat was reading fifty-three degrees. The heating system had been placed in energy-saving mode by an administrator four hours earlier.
The administrator profile belonged to Eleanor.
I ended the call, contacted the airline, and purchased the last available seat to New York. The price was obscene. I would have paid ten times more.
Before boarding, I messaged Maya.
May you like
I’m coming home.
The message remained undelivered.
