The church was silent until she walked in, dressed in black, eyes calm, carrying a silver bucket of ice water. No one understood, not until she reached the open casket and dumped the water straight on her husband’s face. The Johnson home sat on a quiet street in an upscale neighborhood, a stunning contemporary design that Emily had created herself.

On a crisp autumn morning, Emily stood in her home office, sorting through the mail that had piled up during her week-long business trip to Chicago. Bills, bills, more bills, she muttered, separating envelopes into neat stacks. Then she paused, holding an official-looking envelope from their bank.

She opened it, expecting a routine statement, but what she saw made her blood run cold. Their joint savings account, where they’d been depositing money for their future dream home in Colorado, showed a balance of just 742.16. That couldn’t be right. There should have been over 2.3 million in that account.

Emily quickly logged into their online banking, her hands trembling slightly as she typed. The statement wasn’t wrong. Transaction after transaction showed withdrawals, some small, some large, over the past 18 months, all made by Michael.

What the hell? She checked their other accounts. Their other account was nearly empty too. Only her personal account, which Michael couldn’t access, remained untouched.

Emily sat back in her chair, trying to make sense of it. Where had 2.3 million gone? She tried calling him again, straight to voicemail. Michael, it’s me.

I just found the bank statement. Call me back immediately. Emily paced the room, her mind racing.

Something was very wrong. She opened her laptop and began searching through their digital records. Tax returns, investment accounts, credit card statements, looking for any clue.

It took hours, but slowly, a pattern emerged. Credit card statements showed charges at casinos in neighboring states. Cash withdrawals near those same casinos.

Hotel rooms she knew nothing about. Restaurants where they’d never eaten together. Michael had a gambling problem, a serious one.

The front door opened and closed. Emily, you home honey? Michael’s voice called out from the entryway, sounding casual and upbeat, as if nothing was wrong. Emily took a deep breath, closed the laptop, and went to face her husband.

Michael Johnson stood in their kitchen, setting down a bag of groceries. At 42, he still had the athletic build of the college baseball player he’d once been. His dark hair was just beginning to gray at the temples, which Emily had always thought made him look distinguished.

His smile, the one that had first charmed her at a friend’s barbecue nine years ago, spread across his face when he saw her. There’s my award-winning architect. How was Chicago? I missed you.

He moved to embrace her, but Emily stepped back. Where’s our money, Michael? His smile faltered slightly. What do you mean? The 2.3 million in our savings account.

It’s gone, all of it. Michael’s expression shifted through several emotions. There must be some mistake, he said, turning to unpack the groceries.

I’ll call the bank tomorrow. I already checked online. The money’s gone, Michael.

Withdrawals, all made by you. He kept his back to her, arranging vegetables in the refrigerator with unusual care. It’s a temporary thing, Emily.

I had to make some investments. Investments? Emily laughed bitterly. Is that what they call blackjack tables now? Michael froze, then slowly closed the refrigerator and turned to face her.

The charming smile was gone. You’ve been going through my things. I’ve been looking at our financial records after discovering our life savings has disappeared…