Chương 7
“Tomorrow.”
He packed his laptop.
Mara walked Claire to the apartment she had rented twelve blocks from the studio. The building was new, anonymous, and determined to be called a residence rather than an apartment complex. The lobby smelled like citrus cleaner. A wall-mounted screen displayed photographs of smiling people carrying yoga mats.
Claire’s unit was on the tenth floor.
Inside, four labeled boxes stood beside a mattress on a platform frame. The furniture package included a gray sofa, a glass table, two dining chairs, and a floor lamp that leaned slightly to the left.
Mara inspected the lamp. “You’re going to fix that.”
“Not tonight.”
“Tomorrow?”
“No. I hate it.”
“Good. Hatred is a form of commitment.”
Claire removed her earrings and placed them on the kitchen counter.
Mara opened the refrigerator. “You have water, olives, and half a lemon.”
“The apartment came with the lemon.”
“That is worse.”
“I ate a sandwich.”
“You ate half a sandwich.”
“Were you monitoring me?”
“I monitor everyone. It’s why I have no friends.”
Claire sat on the sofa. The cushion exhaled beneath her.
For the first time that day, nobody needed her to decide anything.
The quiet felt less like rest than vacancy.
Mara filled two glasses with water and sat opposite her. “You need to tell me something.”
Claire looked up.
“When I mentioned Adrian’s lawyer warning him about title, you were surprised. When he mentioned River North, you were not.”
“I’d heard the name.”
“How?”
“He talked about it at dinner. Before we separated.”
“What did he say?”
“That it was his biggest project. That the financing depended on proving personal stability after the divorce.”
“Personal stability?”
“His phrase.”
“Did he ask you to guarantee it?”
“No.”
“Did he ask the trust to guarantee it?”
Claire looked toward the window. Beyond the glass, offices remained lit across the street. A man in one of them stood at a copier. He pressed a button, waited, opened the machine, and pressed the same button again.
“Claire.”
“Last summer, Adrian asked whether the trust could transfer the house to us jointly.”
Mara set down her glass. “You never told me.”
“I said no.”
“That is not the same as telling me.”
“He said it would simplify estate planning.”
“Adrian does not simplify anything.”
“I knew that.”
“What happened?”
“I asked the trustee for information.”
“You initiated a transfer review?”
“An inquiry. The trustee sent a draft analysis. No action was taken.”
“Where is the draft?”
Claire thought of the old laptop in the library.
“I printed it.”
Mara’s face became very still. “Where?”
“At the house.”
“What did it say?”
“That the trust could distribute the property to me outright, after which I could retitle it jointly, but the distribution would require tax review, valuation, and board approval.”
“Did you sign anything?”
“No.”
“Did the trustee approve anything?”
“No.”
“Did Adrian see the analysis?”
“I don’t know.”
Mara stared at her for several seconds.
Claire folded her hands. “Say it.”
“You withheld a fact that directly affects his possible state of mind regarding title.”
“I didn’t withhold it. I forgot about it.”
“You forgot that you considered taking the house out of the trust?”
“I considered it for three days.”
“During the period when Adrian was seeking financing.”
“I didn’t know that.”
“You knew he asked.”
“I thought it was about estate planning.”
“Did that sound plausible?”
“No.”
“Then why didn’t you ask?”
Claire stood and walked to the window. The man across the street had closed the copier and was now reading instructions taped to the side.
“Because our marriage was already bad,” she said. “Because every question became a trial. Because if I asked why he needed the house, he would say I didn’t trust him, and then we would spend two hours discussing my failure to trust him instead of his reason for asking.”
Mara’s voice softened, though not much. “That explains why you didn’t ask him. It does not explain why you didn’t tell me.”
“I was ashamed.”
“Of considering it?”
“Of almost doing it.”
The room held the sound of the refrigerator motor switching on.
Claire had nearly removed the only barrier between Adrian’s appetite and the property. She had requested the analysis after a dinner where he spoke about legacy and partnership and how humiliating it felt to live in a house everyone considered hers. He had not shouted. He had poured wine, cleared the plates, and described a future in which their names appeared together on something permanent.
For three days she believed joint title might repair what conversation could not.
Then her mother’s former trustee called and asked one question: What problem are you trying to solve by changing ownership?
Claire had been unable to answer.
She withdrew the request.
She never told Adrian.
Mara rubbed her forehead. “If he found the draft, he may claim he believed the transfer happened.”
“He attended no closing. He signed no deed.”
“Belief does not have to be reasonable to create litigation. It only has to be useful.”
Claire turned from the window. “Do you think he took the money?”
“Yes.”
The directness surprised her.
Mara continued, “I also think you are capable of making our case harder by hiding information you find embarrassing.”
“I wasn’t hiding it.”
“You remembered when it became dangerous.”
“That isn’t fair.”
“No. It is professional.”
Claire laughed once, without humor. “You’re very good at making cruelty sound billable.”
“And you are very good at making shame look like privacy.”
Neither spoke.
Across the street, the copier finally produced a page. The man lifted it above his head in triumph, though he was alone.
Mara stood. “Tomorrow, we tell Dana about the draft. We request the trustee’s file. We preserve your old laptop if it still exists.”
“The crew didn’t find it.”
May you like
“Then Adrian may have it.”
Claire looked at the four boxes by the mattress. One was marked BEDROOM. One was marked OFFICE. Two were marked MISC, which meant she had packed them herself.
