“Do you want to tell me how much he gave, or should I find that out another way?”
Nathan pulled out the chair across from me and sat down.
Not because I had asked him to.
Because his legs had made the decision for him.
“That had nothing to do with my qualifications,” he said.
“Maybe not.
But it had everything to do with how you got the position.”
“Contributions to hospital foundations happen all the time.
It’s not—”
“It’s not what?” I said.
“Illegal?
Unethical?
Something the licensing board might want to know about?”
His jaw tightened.
“You wouldn’t.”
“Nathan.” I leaned forward slightly.
“You handed me divorce papers at your graduation.
You used our emergency savings to buy a home with another woman.
You have been lying to me for two years.” I let that sit for a moment.
“Tell me exactly what you think I wouldn’t do.”
He was quiet.
“Here is what I want,” I said.
“I want a full accounting of every withdrawal made from the joint account over the last two years.
I want documentation of the apartment purchase.
I want the divorce settlement to reflect the financial contribution I made to your education — tuition, living expenses, every dollar I put in while I was working two jobs.” I picked up the envelope from the corner of the desk.
“And I want it handled quickly and cleanly, without a fight, because a fight will require me to explain to the licensing board exactly how your residency placement came to be.”
Nathan stared at me.
“You’ve thought about this,” he said.
“I’ve had several hours.”
