Chương 12
I stared at him.
The room became completely silent except for the ventilation system.
“What things?”
“We don’t know.”
“What did Ethan say back?”
“‘She never checks anything.’”
The phrase hit harder because it sounded like him.
Careless.
Dismissive.
Familiar.
I looked down at my hands.
“Does that prove she knew about the fraud?”
“No.”
The answer came firmly.
“It proves she knew Ethan intended to do something before you reviewed your affairs.”
“That’s all?”
“No.”
Of course not.
Reeves turned one page in his notebook.
“There’s another exchange from four days ago.”
I waited.
“Ethan told her the lender was asking questions.”
My throat tightened.
“What lender?”
“He didn’t specify.”
“What did she say?”
Reeves read from his notes.
“She wrote, ‘Then get Claire’s signature before the wedding and this goes away.’”
I could hear Mom’s voice saying it.
Not angry.
Practical.
The same tone she used when telling someone to refrigerate leftovers.
“Did she know the signature would cover the earlier transfer?”
“We’re trying to determine exactly what she understood.”
I stared toward the window.
Night had fallen.
Across Manhattan, office windows glowed in uneven squares.
Somebody somewhere was staying late for a presentation.
Somebody was ordering dinner.
Somebody was calling home.
“What did my father know?”
“Less, based on the evidence we currently have.”
“Convenient.”
“Possibly true.”
“He came with them.”
“Yes.”
“He left me too.”
Reeves nodded.
“That is not currently a federal crime.”
“I know.”
The words came sharper than I intended.
“I didn’t say it was.”
He closed the notebook.
“I’m not here to tell you what to feel about your parents.”
“Good.”
“I’m here because we need your help identifying whether any other documents on Ethan’s phone could have come from your home.”
He handed me several printed thumbnails.
Tax forms.
An insurance statement.
A scanned signature card.
Then I saw something that made me stop.
A photograph of a handwritten note.
It was mine.
I recognized the yellow legal pad.
The words were from a meeting I had held with Jonathan six months earlier.
Trust revisions before birth.
Guardian options.
Insurance changes.
Review beneficiaries.
At the bottom, I had written Mom?
Only that.
One word and a question mark.
I had been considering whether to name my mother as backup guardian if something happened to me.
I looked up at Reeves.
“Where did you find this?”
“Ethan’s second phone.”
“That pad was in my study.”
“Could your brother have photographed it when he was there three weeks ago?”
“No.”
I stared at the image.
“That note wasn’t there three weeks ago.”
Reeves became very still.
“When was it there?”
“I took that page out months ago.”
“Where did you put it?”
I knew before I answered.
The answer made my skin cold.
“I gave it to my mother.”
Reeves did not move for several seconds.
“When?”
“Six months ago.”
“Why?”
“My mother asked what I was doing about the baby if something happened to me.”
His eyes stayed on mine.
“She asked specifically?”
“Yes.”
The memory came back with an almost insulting amount of detail.
We had been sitting in her kitchen while she cut strawberries into a bowl that already contained too many strawberries.
She had asked whether I had updated my will.
I had told her Jonathan was handling it.
Then she asked who would raise the baby if I died.
I had made a joke about not planning to die.
She had not laughed.
“She said I should write down the things I was considering so I wouldn’t forget.”
Reeves glanced at the photograph again.
“And you gave her the page?”
“I tore it off and handed it to her.”
“Did she ask for it?”
“Yes.”
My mouth went dry.
“I thought she was being helpful.”
He wrote something.
“What did she say when she saw her name?”
I looked toward the window.
The city lights blurred slightly.
“She cried.”
Reeves stopped writing.
“She cried?”
“She hugged me.”
I could smell the strawberries again.
I could feel her hand on the back of my head.
She had said, You’d trust me with that?
I had said, Of course.
I pressed my fingers against my eyes until tiny sparks appeared.
“Claire.”
“I’m fine.”
He said nothing.
I lowered my hands.
“That page was in her possession.”
“Yes.”
“And now there’s a photograph of it on Ethan’s secret phone.”
“Yes.”
“So either she gave it to him or he found it at her apartment.”
“Those are two possibilities.”
“You have another one?”
“Not one I can responsibly offer yet.”
I almost laughed.
His caution was beginning to feel like furniture in the room.
“Did she admit giving it to him?”
“No.”
“What did she say?”
“She said she doesn’t remember seeing that page.”
I stared at him.
“She cried over it.”
“I can only tell you what she told us.”
“She remembers every birthday card she’s ever received.”
Reeves closed the folder.
“We’re obtaining records and preserving devices.”
“Her phone?”
“I can’t discuss every investigative step.”
“She deleted things.”
“That is your inference.”
“It’s a good one.”
“It may be.”
My incision throbbed.
I shifted and immediately regretted it.
Reeves stood.
“You need rest.”
“I need my mother to stop lying.”
“Those are not mutually exclusive.”
“That sounded almost human.”
“I practice.”
He moved toward the door.
“Daniel.”
He turned.
“If she helped him, what happens?”
“That depends on what she did and what she knew.”
“No.”
I held his gaze.
“If she helped him commit fraud.”
“Then she could face charges.”
The answer should have shocked me.
Instead, it landed with a terrible inevitability.
I nodded once.
He left.
Maya came back ten minutes later with soup, crackers, and the expression of someone who had already been briefed by Jonathan.
“You heard.”
“Yes.”
“From him?”
“Yes.”
“He talks too much.”
“He’s a lawyer.”
“Occupational disease.”
She set the soup on the rolling table.
I did not touch it.
Maya sat.
“Eat.”
“No.”
“You had surgery.”
May you like
“I’m aware.”
“Your body would like calories.”
