For weeks, small amounts of money kept disappearing from my wallet. At first, I blamed myself. Maybe I’d spent cash and forgotten. But then I noticed a pattern. Twenty dollars here, forty dollars there, sometimes even more. I checked our accounts and found nothing unusual. My husband, Peter, had always been dependable, so the thought that he might be stealing from me made no sense. Worse, I started wondering whether one of our children was taking the money. I hated thinking that, but I couldn’t ignore what was happening. One evening, I deliberately left a small amount of cash in my wallet and counted it before going to bed.

The next morning, some of it was gone. I felt sick. Instead of accusing anyone, I decided to find out the truth. A few nights later, Peter left the house unusually late. I waited several minutes before following him from a distance. He drove across town, far from our neighborhood, and eventually pulled into a quiet industrial district. He stopped behind a plain building with almost no signs. I watched as he opened his vehicle and began carrying bags and boxes toward someone waiting near a gate. Then I noticed the small sign on the building, and suddenly I had no idea what I was looking at.