Chương 8
“I don’t want to go back there.”
“You won’t. We’ll send a demand.”
“What if he destroys it?”
“Then we deal with that.”
“You say that as if dealing with things repairs them.”
“No,” Mara said. “It only prevents us from pretending they did not happen.”
She left a little after ten.
Claire showered, put on an old T-shirt, and opened the BEDROOM box. Inside were sweaters, framed photographs turned facedown, a ceramic dish, and a paperback novel swollen from water damage. She had packed quickly while Adrian was out, choosing objects by reach rather than importance.
At the bottom lay another champagne-colored robe.
For a moment Claire thought it was the one Vanessa had worn. Then she remembered owning two. Adrian had bought them together during a hotel trip because the store offered a discount on the second.
She held the robe by its shoulders.
The silk was cool and weightless. Nothing about it felt stolen. Nothing about it knew who had worn what.
Claire dropped it into a trash bag.
Then, because the building’s trash room was at the end of the hall and she did not want to meet a neighbor carrying silk at midnight, she left the bag beside the door.
In the morning it was still there.
She made coffee in the small machine provided by the apartment and drank it from a mug printed with the building’s logo. The coffee tasted faintly of plastic. She drank a second cup anyway.
At seven fifteen, Simon sent a link.
FOUND ONE CHAIR.
The listing had been removed, but an archived screenshot showed one of the Halden chairs offered by a high-end resale dealer three weeks earlier. The photograph had been taken in the house library. A narrow strip of the custom shelving was visible behind it.
The seller was identified only as a private client.
The chair had sold for twelve thousand dollars.
Claire called Simon.
“Only one?” she asked.
“The dealer listed them separately. I’m checking the second.”
“Contact Dana first.”
“I did.”
“Good.”
A pause.
“I was waiting for praise.”
“You did very well, Simon.”
“Thank you.”
She dressed in navy trousers and a cream blouse, avoiding white without consciously deciding to. At the studio, Dana was already on a conference call with the resale dealer’s attorney.
The dealer had received six pieces from Vale Development Group, accompanied by an authorization letter stating that Vale had the right to dispose of furnishings from its executive residence. The letter bore Adrian’s signature.
No forged Claire signature. No elaborate concealment.
Only a claim of ownership.
The dealer had sold four items and still possessed two small artworks in storage. They agreed to suspend further sales while records were reviewed, but they would not disclose buyers without legal process.
“How much did Vale receive?” Claire asked.
Dana muted the call. “Approximately forty-six thousand after commission.”
“Where did the money go?”
“They paid Vale’s account.”
“Can we recover it?”
“Maybe. The dealer will argue they acted in good faith. Buyers may have defenses. Recovery could cost more than some items are worth.”
“The chairs are prototypes.”
“Then their value may not be only resale value.”
“They were supposed to anchor the Hollis lobby concept.”
Simon looked up. “We replaced that concept months ago.”
“I know.”
“Then why do they matter?”
Claire did not have a useful answer. The chairs mattered because Adrian had sold them from a room where he used to complain that they were uncomfortable. They mattered because he had converted her work into forty-six thousand dollars and used the money somewhere she could not see. They mattered because they proved the removal crew had not been the first to strip the house.
Dana unmuted the call.
By noon, they had a preliminary device log from the document platform. Claire’s credentials had signed the Northline engagement letter from the old laptop. The IP address matched the house. The verification email had been opened from Adrian’s phone seven minutes later through a forwarding rule created the previous week.
The rule redirected messages containing the words “signature request” to an address Claire did not recognize.
Dana examined the log in silence.
Simon said, “Is that enough?”
“To prove unauthorized access?” Dana asked. “It is strong evidence. To prove Adrian personally created the rule and signed? Not yet.”
“Who else?”
“Anyone with physical access to the laptop and his phone.”
Claire thought of Vanessa.
The thought arrived before she could stop it.
Mara saw it on her face. “Do not.”
“I didn’t say anything.”
“You didn’t need to.”
Vanessa had stayed at the house repeatedly by February. Claire knew because a neighbor had mentioned seeing a dark-haired woman walking a small white dog near the gate. Adrian had denied it. Later, during discovery, he admitted the relationship but described it as beginning after separation.
Claire had never learned the exact date.
Dana closed the log file. “We need the laptop and the phone. We can request voluntary preservation. If he refuses, we seek court relief.”
“How long?”
“Days for a response. Longer for an order.”
“Hollis meets with us Monday.”
“Then prepare to demonstrate liquidity without relying on recovered funds.”
Simon’s mouth tightened. “We can make payroll and current vendor payments. The problem is the first hotel installation deposit. We need the reserve.”
“How much?”
“One hundred twenty thousand by Friday.”
Claire looked at him. “Next Friday?”
“Yes.”
“And the client installment?”
“Due after shipment confirmation.”
“So we pay first.”
“Yes.”
They had designed the contract that way to win the account.
At the time, Claire had called it a calculated risk.
Calculated risks were comforting because the adjective suggested control.
Mara’s phone buzzed. She read the message and looked at Claire.
“Adrian’s lawyer wants an emergency conference.”
“About the furniture?”
May you like
“About everything.”
The conference occurred at three by video. Adrian appeared from what remained of the house library. The built-in shelves were empty except for a router, a glass of water, and a yellow legal pad. Behind him, the pale rectangles where artwork had hung made the room resemble a mouth missing teeth.
