Part 1

The door to Room 714 opened under my key card. My husband, Victor, and Maya, the woman he called his business partner, were lying together beneath a white duvet. He wore a dark T-shirt. She sat up in a pale pajama top, her face draining of color as she saw me.

“Anna,” Victor said. “Why are you here?”

He had told me he was inspecting a construction site two hours away. I had believed him until the hotel sent a confirmation to the email address attached to our joint account. The reservation had been made three weeks before his supposed trip.

“You told me you were at a work site.” My voice sounded calm to my own ears, which frightened me more than a scream would have.

Maya pulled the duvet closer. “He told me you were separated.”

Victor threw back the covers and stepped toward me. “She doesn't understand. Let me explain.”

I rushed forward and struck him once across the face. The sharp sound stopped all three of us. I stepped back immediately, shocked at what I had done. No one was injured, but my hand shook. I had wanted the truth, not a fight.

“Don't touch me,” I said as Victor reached for my arm.

He stopped. Maya picked up her phone, still staring between us. “Victor, you said the divorce was final.”

His silence answered her. Then an envelope slipped from beneath his jacket onto the floor. It bore the address of the apartment building my mother had left me. Under my name was a signature I had never written.

“What did you do with my building?” I asked.