Chương 10
“What things?”
“I don’t remember.”
Rachel remained calm.
“Checks?”
“Yes.”
“Contracts?”
“Maybe.”
“Blank signature pages?”
Beatrice hesitated.
“I don’t know.”
Savannah felt her patience snap.
“How do you not know?”
Beatrice turned.
“Because not everyone lives like a forensic accountant.”
Savannah recoiled.
The old tone was back.
Sharp.
Dismissive.
Beatrice heard it too.
Her mouth tightened.
“I shouldn’t have said that.”
“No.”
“I’m sorry.”
Savannah sat down.
The apology irritated her almost as much as the insult because it was so rare.
Rachel ignored the exchange.
“Christopher’s pattern matters.”
She placed another sheet on the table.
“This is the original loan acknowledgment Mark says he remembers.”
Savannah looked at it.
Only the top half survived as a scanned copy.
The lower portion had been cropped away.
Christopher’s name appeared beside three thousand dollars and the date she already knew.
“Where did this come from?”
“Mark.”
“He had it?”
“He had a photo.”
“Why?”
“Christopher texted it to him years ago during an argument about repayment.”
Savannah stared.
“I repaid him.”
“Can you prove that?”
“No.”
“How did you pay?”
“Cash.”
Rachel’s face remained still.
“Of course.”
“I know.”
“How much?”
“Three thousand.”
“Where did the cash come from?”
“A consulting payment.”
“Bank withdrawal?”
Savannah thought.
“I think so.”
“Which bank?”
“First Heritage.”
“Account still open?”
“No.”
“Closed when?”
“Ten years ago.”
Rachel wrote something down.
“We can request archival statements.”
“How long will that take?”
“Long enough to be annoying.”
Beatrice leaned over the table.
“What exactly could Christopher do with that document?”
Rachel looked at her.
“Potentially file a civil claim.”
“For five percent?”
“Yes.”
“That’s absurd.”
“Absurd claims are still claims.”
Savannah looked at Rachel.
“Would he win?”
“I don’t know.”
“You have to have an opinion.”
“I have several.”
Rachel gathered the pages.
“None of them matter without knowing what evidence he thinks he has.”
Savannah glanced toward the basement door again.
Rachel noticed.
“No.”
“I didn’t say anything.”
“You looked at the door like a woman about to make my afternoon worse.”
“His files are downstairs.”
Rachel closed her eyes briefly.
“Do not touch them.”
“They’re in my house.”
“That does not automatically make every document inside yours.”
“He left them here.”
“He also lives here.”
“Not according to the deed.”
“That affects property ownership, not privacy law.”
Savannah rubbed her forehead.
“I hate this.”
“Good.”
Savannah looked at her.
Rachel sat opposite her.
“People get reckless when legal problems feel satisfying.”
“There is nothing satisfying about this.”
“Then keep it that way.”
Beatrice walked to the window.
The rain had strengthened, turning the backyard into a blurred sheet of green and gray.
“What happens when he gets out?”
Savannah looked at Rachel.
Rachel’s expression changed.
“That depends.”
“On what?”
“Whether prosecutors hold him pending an initial appearance, whether conditions are imposed, whether he posts bond if required, and whether Savannah seeks a protective order.”
Beatrice turned.
“A protective order.”
Savannah said nothing.
The idea felt too large and too obvious at the same time.
Rachel looked at her.
“You need to consider it.”
“He’s never hit me before.”
“He threw boiling liquid at your face.”
“I know.”
“I’m not telling you what to feel.”
“It sounds like you are.”
“I’m telling you what happened.”
Savannah stood.
“I need water.”
No one stopped her.
She filled a glass and drank half of it over the sink.
Her hand trembled against the rim.
Behind her, Rachel and Beatrice did not speak.
Savannah appreciated that silence.
She needed it.
Christopher had been arrested.
There was a forged agreement.
Forty thousand dollars was missing.
He had apparently been building a story about her instability.
Any one of those things should have been enough to make a decision.
Together they made decision feel impossible.
Her phone rang.
Unknown number.
Savannah stared at it.
Rachel said, “Don’t answer.”
It stopped.
Then rang again.
Same number.
Beatrice whispered, “Could it be the jail?”
Rachel held out her hand.
“Let it go to voicemail.”
Savannah did.
A notification appeared seconds later.
New voicemail.
Rachel said, “Speaker.”
Savannah pressed play.
Christopher’s voice filled the kitchen.
“Savannah, it’s me.”
He sounded exhausted.
No anger.
No swagger.
Just exhaustion.
“I get one call and apparently I’m wasting it on you.”
A humorless breath.
“I’m not asking you to get me out.”
Savannah stared at the phone.
“I need you to listen before Rachel turns this into something it isn’t.”
Rachel’s eyebrows lifted.
Christopher continued.
“The five-percent agreement is not what you think.”
Beatrice stepped closer.
“I didn’t forge your signature.”
Savannah’s fingers went cold.
“I know you won’t believe that.”
A voice in the background told him he had one minute.
Christopher spoke faster.
“Ask Elaine what she signed before you accuse me of anything.”
Savannah looked at Rachel.
Rachel’s face had changed.
“And ask her who gave her the page.”
The recording crackled.
Christopher lowered his voice.
“It wasn’t me.”
Then he said the one name Savannah had not expected to hear.
“Ask Martin.”
Savannah replayed the voicemail without sitting down.
Christopher’s voice sounded thinner the second time.
Not more truthful.
Just smaller.
When the recording ended, nobody spoke.
Rachel reached for Savannah’s phone.
“Again.”
Savannah handed it over.
They listened a third time.
Beatrice lowered herself into the nearest chair before it finished.
Rachel stopped the playback.
“What did Martin know eleven years ago?”
Savannah looked at her.
“Almost everything about the company.”
“That isn’t what I asked.”
“He was an early adviser.”
“Formal title?”
“Not then.”
“Investor?”
“No.”
“Board member?”
“Not until later.”
Rachel folded her arms.
“So why would Christopher name him?”
Savannah stared at the dining table.
Because Martin had been there.
That was the first answer.
The second was worse.
Because Martin had access.
Not necessarily to her signature.
Not necessarily to blank legal forms.
But access to the company, its records, its address history, its incorporation documents, and the chaotic stack of early paperwork nobody imagined would matter a decade later.
May you like
Beatrice said quietly, “Do you trust him?”
Savannah turned.
