Chương 14
“I know.”
“Mark made it easy to think that.”
I looked at her.
“That is not the same as making you think it.”
Her eyes dropped.
“I know.”
For a moment, I wished I had let her blame him.
It would have been kinder.
It also would have been false.
Claire picked at the edge of the wrapper.
“Mom said you were always jealous of me.”
I laughed once.
“Mom says many things.”
“I believed her.”
“That was convenient.”
Claire winced.
I regretted it and did not take it back.
“I was jealous of you sometimes,” I said.
Her head lifted.
“You were?”
“Of course.”
“Why?”
“Because you could mess up and somehow still be adorable.”
“That is not true.”
“You got a DUI at twenty-two and Dad called it a wake-up call.”
Claire’s face tightened.
“I know.”
“I got a parking ticket the same year and Mom lectured me for forty minutes about responsibility.”
“That is almost funny.”
“It was not funny while paying seventy-five dollars.”
She smiled despite herself.
Then it disappeared.
“I thought you didn’t care what they thought.”
“I got better at pretending.”
That silenced her.
Maya returned and sat down with her own sandwich.
“Good.”
Claire looked at her.
“What?”
“You are both eating.”
“Apparently this is now a supervised lunch.”
“Yes.”
Maya opened a bag of chips.
“I spoke with the prosecutor again.”
Claire stopped chewing.
“About what?”
“Nothing substantive.”
“That phrase means something terrible every time.”
“It means procedural.”
Maya took a sip of tea.
“They are not requesting that you surrender your personal phone at this time.”
Claire exhaled.
“At this time.”
“Yes.”
“And Mark’s letter?”
“They know your parents have it.”
My stomach tightened.
“How?”
“Your father’s counsel contacted them.”
I looked at her.
“He got a lawyer?”
“Apparently.”
“That was fast.”
“Fear accelerates billable decisions.”
Claire asked, “Who?”
“Thomas Reed.”
I knew the name.
Not personally.
“He’s good.”
Maya glanced at me.
“You know him?”
“By reputation.”
“Then stop there.”
“I wasn’t going farther.”
“You were thinking farther.”
Claire muttered, “She does that.”
I ignored her.
Maya continued.
“Your father’s counsel is arranging for the letter and related documents to be preserved.”
Claire looked at me.
“So Dad listened.”
“To someone.”
That mattered more than I wanted to admit.
“What about Mom?” I asked.
“She has separate counsel now too.”
Claire blinked.
“Separate from Dad?”
“Yes.”
That changed something.
It was subtle but immediate.
For decades, my parents had presented themselves as a single unit.
Dad spoke.
Mom reinforced.
Mom decided.
Dad defended.
Disagreement happened privately, if at all.
Separate lawyers meant their interests might not be identical.
Claire understood it too.
“Why would they need different attorneys?”
Maya looked at her.
“Because they may have signed different documents, made different statements, or had different levels of knowledge.”
Claire sat very still.
“Does that mean one of them could blame the other?”
“It means lawyers prefer not to discover conflicts after they become expensive.”
“That was not my question.”
“No.”
Maya leaned back.
“It also means yes, their legal interests could diverge.”
Claire looked toward the window.
I could see her trying to fit that possibility into the version of our parents she had carried since childhood.
It did not fit cleanly.
Nothing did anymore.
My phone vibrated in my bag.
I checked it.
A message from Daniel.
Call when available.
I stood.
“I need to take this.”
Maya nodded.
In the hallway, Daniel answered before the second ring.
“I have ten minutes.”
“Comforting.”
“Emma.”
“Sorry.”
He lowered his voice.
“We received a preservation request.”
My stomach dropped.
“For me?”
“For all internal communications concerning Bellamy Capital and related entities.”
“That’s expected.”
“Yes.”
“Then why are you calling?”
“Because your name appears in correspondence from Bellamy’s counsel.”
I leaned against the wall again.
“What correspondence?”
“A letter sent last month.”
“About what?”
“You.”
I stared at the EXIT sign above the stairwell.
“Last month?”
“Yes.”
“Why wasn’t I told?”
“It was addressed to legal.”
“What did it say?”
Daniel paused.
“They alleged you had improperly accessed information about Mark.”
“That’s false.”
“We know.”
“Do you?”
“Yes.”
“Then why does this keep getting worse?”
Because my voice had risen, a woman from the physical therapy office glanced into the hall.
I turned away.
Daniel said, “Listen to me.”
I did.
“IT reviewed access logs when the letter came in.”
“And?”
“No unauthorized access.”
Relief hit so hard I almost sat down.
“None?”
“None.”
“Then why didn’t legal respond?”
“They did.”
“How?”
“They denied the allegation and reminded Bellamy’s counsel that you had been screened from the matter.”
I closed my eyes.
“So Mark tried this before the arrest.”
“Yes.”
That changed the letter at my parents’ house.
It no longer looked like one private accusation designed for family consumption.
It looked like part of a pattern.
“Daniel.”
“I know.”
“What?”
“You’re thinking he was building a record.”
I did not answer.
Daniel continued.
“That is possible.”
“Everyone keeps saying that word today.”
“It is a useful word.”
“Did he name any evidence?”
“No.”
“Any incident?”
“No.”
“Then what did he claim I did?”
“That you used your position to damage his reputation and interfere with client relationships.”
I laughed quietly.
It sounded ugly even to me.
“I had almost no access to him professionally.”
“Correct.”
“And he knew that.”
“Probably.”
“Then why send it?”
Daniel paused.
“To create an allegation that existed before his arrest.”
I stared through the stairwell window at the parking lot.
A woman was loading groceries into an SUV, one bag at a time.
“He anticipated trouble.”
“That is one interpretation.”
“Do the investigators know about the letter?”
“Legal will produce it.”
“Good.”
“Emma.”
“Yes?”
“Do not celebrate that.”
“I’m not.”
“Your personal conflict may still become relevant.”
“I understand.”
“No, I mean reputationally.”
His tone softened.
“If this reaches litigation, your family history could become part of a defense narrative.”
The thought made my stomach turn.
May you like
Not because the history was secret.
Because it could be simplified.
