My Husband Checked Out, but His Best Friend Didn’t
Chapter 3: Chapter 3
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Published October 02, 2026
Arthur didn't flinch. He didn't even shift Leo’s head from where it rested comfortably against his shoulder. He merely turned his grey eyes toward Julian, cool and utterly unimpressed.
"I’m feeding your son," Arthur said evenly. "Because his father apparently prefers starving him to interrupting dessert."
Julian’s face darkened with a surge of red. He took three aggressive strides across the marble floor, ripping off his gloves and slamming them onto the counter.
"Don’t you dare lecture me about my family, Arthur," Julian hissed, leaning forward. "This is my home. You don't get to walk in here past ten at night, cozy up to my wife, and play patriarch. Hand me my son."
He reached out to seize Leo, but Arthur stood up smoothly, turning his shoulder to block Julian's advance with the effortless leverage of a man who had boxed heavyweight throughout his university years. Julian grabbed Arthur’s tailored lapel instead, his knuckles white.
"Back off, Julian," Arthur warned, his voice dropping into a register that made the hair on my arms stand up. "You’ve spent more on champagne pairings tonight than you gave your wife to survive on for thirty days. Six hundred and fifty dollars. That's what you left her with."
Julian froze. His grip on Arthur’s coat slackened slightly, a flash of genuine disorientation crossing his features before his expression hardened again.
"What ridiculous nonsense are you talking about?" Julian scoffed, glancing sideways at me with disgust. "Six hundred? Is that the pathetic lie you fed him, Clara? I instructed Annabelle to authorize an automatic monthly disbursement of sixty-five thousand dollars from the private family trust account starting the week Leo came home!"
The kitchen fell dead, suffocatingly quiet.
I sat motionless on the stool, the cold settling deep into my bones. My throat felt scraped raw. "You... you sent what?"
"Sixty-five thousand a month," Julian barked, stepping back and pulling his phone from his breast pocket. "You told me you wanted complete autonomy over household management, the doula, and the pediatric specialists. I didn't want you stressing over line items while recovering from surgery. I told Annabelle to set up a recurring wire on the first of every month."
He rapidly unlocked his screen, swiped through his banking application, and shoved the screen toward my face.
"Look at it!" he snapped. "October first: sixty-five thousand. September first: sixty-five thousand. August: sixty-five thousand. Straight from the holding trust!"
I looked down at the glowing screen. The transfers were there. Huge, staggering sums labeled Household Operations.
Then my eyes moved to the recipient details at the bottom of the ledger receipt.
The routing number was local, but the beneficiary account ended in 9904.
I stared at the numbers until they blurred, then slowly reached into my sweater pocket, pulling out my own phone. My fingers felt like ice as I brought up my mobile banking app, turning the cracked screen toward him.
"My account number ends in 4112," I whispered, my voice barely audible over the hum of the refrigerator. "It has been 4112 since college. The account you've been sending sixty-five thousand dollars to isn't mine."
Julian stared at my screen, his brow furrowing in irritation. "What are you talking about? Annabelle told me you opened a new private wealth account with Chase to keep the household tax filings separate from your personal liabilities. She said you provided the routing slip yourself."
"I never opened an account with Chase," I said, a bitter, trembling laugh escaping my lips. "I haven't left this house except to take Leo to his vaccinations. Look at my statement, Julian. Look at it."
Arthur stepped forward, his eyes cutting into Julian like surgical blades. "Read the line, Vance. Look at the ledger."
Julian took my phone, his eyes darting across the transaction history.
Oct 1 — P2P Transfer from A. Ross: +$650.00
Sep 1 — P2P Transfer from A. Ross: +$750.00
Aug 1 — P2P Transfer from A. Ross: +$900.00
Julian’s breath hitched. The high color drained from his cheeks in a sickening wave, leaving him pale and hollow. He stared at the screen as if waiting for the letters to rearrange themselves.
"This... this is an error," Julian stammered, lowering the phone, his voice suddenly losing its venomous edge. "It’s an administrative glitch. A routing mix-up in accounting. Annabelle wouldn’t—she knows this is family maintenance money. She’s been with me through three mergers; she wouldn’t dare touch trust dispersals."
"An error?" Arthur let out a low, humorless laugh that sounded like cracking ice. "She pocketed nearly two hundred thousand dollars of your child's care fund in ninety days, fed your wife pennies through a peer-to-peer app, and when Clara called you begging for milk, your chief of staff whispered in your ear that she was extorting you. And you believed her."
"Shut up, Arthur!" Julian snapped, running a hand frantically through his hair, his composure splintering down the center. "You don't understand how the office runs. Annabelle manages dozens of off-book disbursements—she probably set up an escrow holding account until the trust documentation cleared probate!"
"Then call her," I said, looking straight into the eyes of the man I had loved for five years. "Call her right now on speaker. Ask her why my baby was crying from hunger three hours ago while she sat beside you at dinner."
Julian glared at me, defensive pride flaring back into his eyes. "Fine. I will. And when she clears up this bureaucratic misunderstanding, you’re going to apologize for making a public spectacle out of our private affairs."
He dialed Annabelle's direct executive line and hit the speaker button, setting the phone on the island between us.
The dial tone rang once. Twice.
Then a sweet, breathless voice purred through the speaker.
"Julian? Did you make it home already? I kept the reservation for the weekend suite in Aspen under my personal card just like you asked. Did your wife cause another scene?"
"I’m feeding your son," Arthur said evenly. "Because his father apparently prefers starving him to interrupting dessert."
Julian’s face darkened with a surge of red. He took three aggressive strides across the marble floor, ripping off his gloves and slamming them onto the counter.
"Don’t you dare lecture me about my family, Arthur," Julian hissed, leaning forward. "This is my home. You don't get to walk in here past ten at night, cozy up to my wife, and play patriarch. Hand me my son."
He reached out to seize Leo, but Arthur stood up smoothly, turning his shoulder to block Julian's advance with the effortless leverage of a man who had boxed heavyweight throughout his university years. Julian grabbed Arthur’s tailored lapel instead, his knuckles white.
"Back off, Julian," Arthur warned, his voice dropping into a register that made the hair on my arms stand up. "You’ve spent more on champagne pairings tonight than you gave your wife to survive on for thirty days. Six hundred and fifty dollars. That's what you left her with."
Julian froze. His grip on Arthur’s coat slackened slightly, a flash of genuine disorientation crossing his features before his expression hardened again.
"What ridiculous nonsense are you talking about?" Julian scoffed, glancing sideways at me with disgust. "Six hundred? Is that the pathetic lie you fed him, Clara? I instructed Annabelle to authorize an automatic monthly disbursement of sixty-five thousand dollars from the private family trust account starting the week Leo came home!"
The kitchen fell dead, suffocatingly quiet.
I sat motionless on the stool, the cold settling deep into my bones. My throat felt scraped raw. "You... you sent what?"
"Sixty-five thousand a month," Julian barked, stepping back and pulling his phone from his breast pocket. "You told me you wanted complete autonomy over household management, the doula, and the pediatric specialists. I didn't want you stressing over line items while recovering from surgery. I told Annabelle to set up a recurring wire on the first of every month."
He rapidly unlocked his screen, swiped through his banking application, and shoved the screen toward my face.
"Look at it!" he snapped. "October first: sixty-five thousand. September first: sixty-five thousand. August: sixty-five thousand. Straight from the holding trust!"
I looked down at the glowing screen. The transfers were there. Huge, staggering sums labeled Household Operations.
Then my eyes moved to the recipient details at the bottom of the ledger receipt.
The routing number was local, but the beneficiary account ended in 9904.
I stared at the numbers until they blurred, then slowly reached into my sweater pocket, pulling out my own phone. My fingers felt like ice as I brought up my mobile banking app, turning the cracked screen toward him.
"My account number ends in 4112," I whispered, my voice barely audible over the hum of the refrigerator. "It has been 4112 since college. The account you've been sending sixty-five thousand dollars to isn't mine."
Julian stared at my screen, his brow furrowing in irritation. "What are you talking about? Annabelle told me you opened a new private wealth account with Chase to keep the household tax filings separate from your personal liabilities. She said you provided the routing slip yourself."
"I never opened an account with Chase," I said, a bitter, trembling laugh escaping my lips. "I haven't left this house except to take Leo to his vaccinations. Look at my statement, Julian. Look at it."
Arthur stepped forward, his eyes cutting into Julian like surgical blades. "Read the line, Vance. Look at the ledger."
Julian took my phone, his eyes darting across the transaction history.
Oct 1 — P2P Transfer from A. Ross: +$650.00
Sep 1 — P2P Transfer from A. Ross: +$750.00
Aug 1 — P2P Transfer from A. Ross: +$900.00
Julian’s breath hitched. The high color drained from his cheeks in a sickening wave, leaving him pale and hollow. He stared at the screen as if waiting for the letters to rearrange themselves.
"This... this is an error," Julian stammered, lowering the phone, his voice suddenly losing its venomous edge. "It’s an administrative glitch. A routing mix-up in accounting. Annabelle wouldn’t—she knows this is family maintenance money. She’s been with me through three mergers; she wouldn’t dare touch trust dispersals."
"An error?" Arthur let out a low, humorless laugh that sounded like cracking ice. "She pocketed nearly two hundred thousand dollars of your child's care fund in ninety days, fed your wife pennies through a peer-to-peer app, and when Clara called you begging for milk, your chief of staff whispered in your ear that she was extorting you. And you believed her."
"Shut up, Arthur!" Julian snapped, running a hand frantically through his hair, his composure splintering down the center. "You don't understand how the office runs. Annabelle manages dozens of off-book disbursements—she probably set up an escrow holding account until the trust documentation cleared probate!"
"Then call her," I said, looking straight into the eyes of the man I had loved for five years. "Call her right now on speaker. Ask her why my baby was crying from hunger three hours ago while she sat beside you at dinner."
Julian glared at me, defensive pride flaring back into his eyes. "Fine. I will. And when she clears up this bureaucratic misunderstanding, you’re going to apologize for making a public spectacle out of our private affairs."
He dialed Annabelle's direct executive line and hit the speaker button, setting the phone on the island between us.
The dial tone rang once. Twice.
Then a sweet, breathless voice purred through the speaker.
"Julian? Did you make it home already? I kept the reservation for the weekend suite in Aspen under my personal card just like you asked. Did your wife cause another scene?"
✦ ✦ ✦
