Detective Adams opened a thick manila folder on his lap, his thumb flipping through several pages of banking alerts printed on thermal paper.
“We have formal complaints from two commercial banks in Queens,” Adams said. “And three more from local business owners here in Brooklyn.”
“For the fourteen thousand dollars?” I asked.
“For grand larceny,” Detective Adams said. “The fourteen thousand he took from your joint account was just the cash he needed to clear his immediate overdrafts before he left for Florida.”
I rubbed my gold wedding ring in the silence that followed, my thumb tracing the worn metal band.
“Where is he now?” I asked.
“We have a unit checking his residence on Union Street twice a day,” Adams said, closing the folder with a sharp snap. “But he has not been back since they returned from Miami.”
He stood up, pulling a white business card from his pocket and placing it next to my coffee cup. “If he calls you, do not negotiate. Call me immediately.”
