I opened the oldest transfer.
Then another.
Then another.
The money had been moving for eighteen months.
Not twelve.
Eighteen.
Some payments went directly to the apartment.
Others went to credit cards.
Others went to accounts I didn’t recognize.
And then I noticed something.
The transfers had started shortly after Nathan lost his job.
I looked up.
“You told me you were still employed.”
He didn’t answer.
“You lost your job eighteen months ago?”
“I was laid off.”
“When?”
He rubbed his forehead.
“About a year and a half ago.”
“And you never told me?”
“I didn’t want you to worry.”
I stared at him.
“You let me believe you were earning money.”
“I had savings.”
“No.”
I pointed to the statements.
“You had debt.”
He looked away.
I opened another document.
His credit card balance.
Then another.
Then another.
He owed far more than I had ever known.
