Chapter 6 - CAMILLE'S HUSBAND SAW THE NUMBERS
Ethan met me at Maya’s office.
Neutral location.
No parents.
No Camille.
He looked stunned more than angry.
“I thought she was helping your parents.”
“So did everyone.”
He handed Maya account statements.
Camille had $96,400 in revolving and personal debt.
Some normal.
Some reckless.
Luxury purchases.
Travel.
Photography equipment.
A failed online boutique.
Then large cash advances.
“What were those for?” I asked.
“I thought your parents.”
Maya traced one.
It paid down Camille’s card.
Another paid a tax bill.
Another went into Camille Doyle Creative Consulting.
Ethan covered his face.
“I had no idea.”
“Did you know about my family support account?”
“No.”
“Did Camille ever tell you Mom gave her a card?”
“She said you gave her a family card.”
There it was.
Again.
Everyone had a story about my consent except me.
Ethan looked ashamed.
“I should have asked you.”
“You had no reason to think your wife lied about a credit card her sister supposedly gave her.”
“I had reasons to question other things.”
That belonged to their marriage.
Not mine.
Then he said:
“She collected money for the anniversary.”
I stopped.
“What?”
“From relatives.”
“How much?”
“I don’t know.”
My pulse changed.
“Why?”
“She told people the party was a family gift and everyone should contribute.”
No one had told me.
Because I supposedly was just another guest.
Maya asked:
“Where did contributions go?”
Ethan laughed bitterly.
“That’s what I want to know.”
We found out within two days.
Venmo.
Zelle.
Checks.
Cash.
At least eighteen relatives had contributed.
Amounts between $200 and $1,500.
Total we could document:
$12,750.
The party had a $6,000 deposit charged to my support account.
Then another $18,640 final bill my father ultimately paid.
Meaning the family had contributed money that should have covered more than half the evening.
Where was it?
Camille’s personal checking account.
Then:
Credit-card payments.
I stared.
“She used the party contributions to pay her debt.”
Maya nodded.
Apparently.
Ethan looked sick.
“I gave her $2,000 for the party too.”
Rachel, sitting beside me, muttered:
“Of course you did.”
This explained why Camille could claim she “planned” the anniversary.
She had become the money collection point.
Everyone assumed she paid because she controlled the contributions.
Meanwhile I booked everything and my account carried the deposit.
My father paid the remainder.
Camille kept the contributions.
I did not call the relatives.
I wanted no public revenge campaign.
Ethan made a different choice.
He confronted Camille.
She arrived at my office the next morning without an appointment.
Rachel tried to stop her.
I allowed five minutes.
Camille closed the door.
“You talked to my husband.”
“He contacted me.”
“You destroyed my marriage.”
“No.”
She flinched.
“You don’t get to do that.”
“Do what?”
“Turn the consequence into my decision.”
Her eyes filled.
“You always do this.”
I stared.
“Do what?”
“Act calm so everyone thinks you’re right.”
Interesting.
“Would yelling change the bank statements?”
“No.”
“Did you use the anniversary contributions for your personal debt?”
She looked away.
“Yes.”
“Did you plan to repay them?”
“Yes.”
“When?”
“After Christmas.”
“With what money?”
Silence.
“Did you know Mom impersonated me to put you on my account?”
Her head snapped up.
“What?”
That looked genuine.
“You didn’t know?”
“No.”
“She told me you added me.”
For the first time, I believed Camille about something important.
Mom had lied to both of us.
Camille used the card.
Wrong.
But perhaps she believed I approved it.
“Did you know the account was mine?”
“Yes.”
“Did you ever thank me?”
She stared.
“I thought Mom said you didn’t want it discussed.”
Of course.
Mom had designed silence around everything.
Then Camille whispered:
“She told me you felt guilty because you didn’t have kids.”
I became completely still.
“What?”
“She said helping with Hannah made you feel useful.”
I had no response.
Camille immediately saw what she had done.
“Oh God.”
“No.”
“Elena—”
“My name is Olivia.”
She covered her face.
“I know. I’m sorry.”
She was unraveling.
Good.
Maybe truth does that.
Then she said:
“I thought you looked down on me.”
“Why?”
“Because everything was easy for you.”
I laughed.
That finally made me angry.
“Easy?”
She flinched.
“You know what I mean.”
“No. Explain it.”
“My bills always feel impossible. You always have money.”
“Because I built a company.”
“You had Grandma’s money.”
“I had eighteen thousand dollars of Grandma’s money. You had a hundred thousand dollars of Grandma’s cottage share stolen too.”
Camille froze.
“What?”
She did not know.
I told her.
Her face drained.
“Mom said Grandma left the cottage to them.”
“She didn’t.”
Camille sat down.
For the first time since the party, we were not sisters fighting over who had more.
We were two women realizing the same mother had rewritten both of our financial histories.
Then Camille whispered:
“There’s something else Mom lied about.”
“What?”
“Your college.”
I frowned.
“She always said they paid for my college.”
Camille shook her head.
“No.”
“How do you know?”
“Because Grandma paid mine too.”
I stopped.
“I thought Mom paid yours.”
“So did I.”
Until a year earlier, Camille had found an old trust statement.
Rosemary had funded education accounts for both granddaughters.
Mine should have had money left after graduation.
“How much?” I asked.
Camille looked sick.
“Forty-seven thousand.”
“What happened to mine?”
May you like
She whispered:
“Mom used it for the kitchen remodel.”
