Chapter 2: Cheaters Will Cheat

On Monday morning, I left for work before Abbie was even awake. Since I was bringing home a good salary, we had agreed early on that she could give up her position as a loan officer and branch manager at the local bank. Instead, she became a stay-at-home wife and started volunteering for several causes around Columbus. Up until now, I hadn’t minded her spending time at the megachurch. But after what happened Friday night, I couldn’t help but feel deeply unsettled. The public display had gone beyond anything I expected, and it made me question her involvement there. I found myself wishing she had chosen to volunteer at a food pantry or a battered women’s shelter instead—something that felt more grounded, a way of helping people without drawing so much attention to herself and Reverend Bobby Bill.

Monday night at supper, Abbie was a chatterbox, all excited about her new position at the church and everything she hoped to accomplish. It was Bobby Bill this and Bobby Bill that—how much he praised her for her enthusiasm and the hard work she had done on her first day. I nearly choked on the chicken casserole when Abbie mentioned how it was such a pleasure to be under Bobby Bill, working toward a common goal.

I scared Abbie with my coughing fit so badly she was ready to call 911, until I assured her I’d be all right. Definitely a poor choice of words on her part.

Still, I couldn’t let my personal problems interfere with work. I had to stay focused and give my best effort toward achieving the financial goals of the firm’s clients. After all, they depended on my recommendations for where to invest. If I didn’t give 100 percent, there was always a chance a client could lose money—and too many losses like that would be bad for both the business and my family’s financial security.

The rest of Monday evening, I stayed in my home office, working on projects I had brought home and researching some investments I was considering for myself. My first rule of business was never to recommend an investment I hadn’t personally tried before suggesting it to a client. I generally did very well developing my own investment strategies.

While I was in the home office, Abbie was in the living room, talking to her mother about her day at the church and the responsibilities as she saw them.

Later that night, when I came out of the home office, the house felt unusually quiet. Abbie was still on the phone, her voice soft—almost too soft. The subdued way she spoke immediately caught my attention; something felt off. Every now and then, she giggled quietly, a sound that didn’t seem quite right—like she was sharing a private joke with someone I didn’t know.

I stood there for a moment, watching her, trying to make sense of it all. The more I listened, the more the hairs on the back of my neck stood up. My instincts told me something wasn’t right. When I finally gathered the courage to approach her—hoping, at the very least, to share a simple goodnight kiss—she turned her back to me in an almost exaggerated way. It felt intentional, like she was blocking me out, shielding her conversation from me.

I hesitated, unsure of what to do next. My heart raced, my anxiety grew, and I could feel the growing distance between us. I gave up on trying to kiss her and quietly went up to bed, my mind spinning. As I lay there in the dark, the silence felt heavier than usual, pressing down on me. By the time she came to bed, I was pretending to be asleep, though I couldn’t shake the unease that lingered in the room.

Tuesday morning, I was up before Abbie again. The quiet hum of the coffee machine filled the air as it worked its magic, and the microwave buzzed, slowly warming my breakfast sandwich. But even as I stood there, my routine felt off. Something was pulling at me, a quiet unease I couldn’t shake. As I moved through the kitchen, my eyes instinctively drifted to the living room, where the cordless phone sat on the table, its black body almost too still.

My heart skipped a beat as I walked over to it. I couldn’t quite explain why, but something about it felt important, almost like I needed to check. I picked up the handset, my fingers grazing the smooth plastic. On the back, the LCD display flickered on. It was just a simple screen, but for some reason, it seemed to hold more than just numbers. The time, the unknown number that had called, and the duration of the call were all there—almost like a quiet message, waiting for me to notice. I found myself staring at the display longer than I’d meant to, a tight feeling settling in my chest. Why hadn’t I seen this before? And why did it feel so significant now?

Abbie’s call from last night stood out to me. The number was unfamiliar, and according to the phone log, she’d been on the phone for over two hours. That was a good hour and a half after I’d already gone to bed. Now, if I were the suspicious type, I might have started to wonder about it. After all, a two-hour phone call, speaking in quiet tones, and turning her back to me when I came over to give her a good night kiss? That would probably raise some questions.

But I didn’t let it bother me. I trusted Abbie completely. She was the last person I’d ever suspect of doing something like that. If anyone was going to cause me trouble, it would be one of her friends. Some of them, I had no doubt, could pull something like that off. There was one in particular—Emily Crumm—who had a reputation for hopping from relationship to relationship. But not Abbie.

I shrugged it off and went about my day, telling myself there was nothing to worry about.

Tuesday at noon, I stepped out for a quick burger, knowing I needed to be back by one for an appointment with a long-time client who had placed their trust in my recommendations. When I spoke to them, it was as if the words came from somewhere beyond me, like I was inspired to say exactly what they needed to hear.

There was a burger joint not far from my office, and their sandwiches were among the best I’d ever had. I didn’t go there often, though. I knew all too well that one of their double burgers could practically double my blood lipid levels in a single sitting. Still, those sandwiches—and their fries—were something special. I had it on good authority that their fries were soaked in sugar water before frying to release the potato starches, and they used beef tallow for the frying. It was a combination that made them dangerously delicious.

I ordered my meal to go, planning to eat it back at the office so I’d be ready for the client’s 1 p.m. appointment. As I was heading out, I ran into Abbie’s friend—Emily Crumm, the one with the reputation for serial cheating. Normally, she’d ignore me completely, but today was different. She saw me, stopped, and instead of brushing me off, she actually greeted me and asked how I was. It caught me off guard. This wasn’t like her.

She went on to say it was nice to run into me and told me to take care. I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off. What was with all the sudden politeness? It felt strange, like there was something I was missing. Had she known something I didn’t? Or was I just imagining things?

I made it back to the office with plenty of time to spare and ate my lunch in the break room, enjoying a few quiet moments before the meeting. At 1 pm, I was ready for the client, and the meeting went smoothly. They liked my recommendations and agreed to everything I proposed without hesitation. They were pleased with how their portfolio was performing, and I walked away with a nice, sizeable commission.

On the way home, while waiting for a traffic light to turn green, my mind wandered back to my encounter with Abbie’s friend—the serial cheater. On its own, the conversation hadn’t really bothered me, but when I started to put it into the context of everything else that had been going on lately, I began to see a pattern forming. And it was a pattern I didn’t like.

It all started with the Friday night dinner invitation for Reverend Bobby Bill Jones, his subtle move to sit close to Abbie, and then her accepting the volunteer position at the church, where she would be working closely with him. Then there was the conversation with the serial cheater at the burger joint, and now the upcoming conference this weekend. All these moments, these little data points, were stacking up in my mind like markers on a graph. As a financial planner, graphs and data points are how I make my living, and I knew that when things add up, they point to something. And right now, everything was adding up to something that didn’t sit right with me.