Chương 12
Neither did Vanessa.
Claire could hear it in the silence.
They ended the call ten minutes later with an agreement that Vanessa would preserve every message from Ethan and send nothing to anyone without saving screenshots first.
Mara made her repeat that she should not confront Ethan about Elise.
Vanessa disliked being instructed.
Claire liked her slightly more because of it.
After the call ended, Mara gathered the documents.
“You should try to rest.”
Claire looked at the clock.
“Are you going back to bed?”
“No.”
“So neither are you.”
“I’m billing someone.”
That surprised a laugh out of Claire.
“Who?”
“Dominic.”
“Good.”
Mara paused at the connecting door.
“He won’t mind.”
“I hope he does.”
“He won’t.”
Claire pulled the hotel robe tighter around herself.
“Tell him I’m annoyed about the security.”
“He knows.”
“Tell him again.”
Mara nodded solemnly.
“I’ll invoice him for both conversations.”
When she left, Claire turned off the television.
The silence became too large almost immediately.
She picked up the red planner and opened to random pages.
Dental appointment.
Dad’s birthday.
Buy cat food for Mrs. Palmer.
She did not own a cat.
Mrs. Palmer had lived next door to the clinic and broken her ankle one winter.
Claire had apparently bought cat food for her three times.
The handwriting belonged to someone who expected to have a tomorrow full of errands.
She sat with the planner until nearly three.
Then the adrenaline finally gave way.
Claire slept in the hotel robe with one bedside lamp on.
She woke at 6:42 to someone knocking.
For one terrible second, she thought Ethan had found her.
Then Mara called through the door.
“It’s me.”
Claire opened it with the chain still attached.
Mara raised an eyebrow.
“Good.”
Claire shut the door in her face long enough to remove the chain.
When she reopened it, Mara held two coffees and a paper bag.
“Your instincts said chicken noodle last night and coffee this morning?”
“Dominic told me how you take it.”
Claire stared at the cup.
“What did he say?”
“Two cream, one sugar.”
“That was three years ago.”
Mara looked at the label.
“Apparently he retains useless information.”
Claire took the coffee.
She drank it.
It was exactly right.
That unsettled her more than it should have.
“Anything on Elise?”
Mara stepped inside.
“Yes.”
Claire’s sleepiness disappeared.
Mara placed the food on the desk.
“The accident happened around four yesterday afternoon on Highway 100.”
“Single vehicle?”
“No.”
“Who hit her?”
“A pickup crossed the center line.”
Claire’s stomach tightened.
“Driver?”
“Seventy-one-year-old man.”
“Drunk?”
“No indication.”
“Did he leave?”
“No.”
“Then it was an accident.”
Mara took off her jacket.
“It appears to have been.”
Claire exhaled.
Relief came first.
Then shame for being relieved by someone else’s ordinary catastrophe.
“What happened to the other driver?”
“Minor injuries.”
“And Elise?”
“Multiple fractures, internal injuries, surgery overnight.”
Claire sat.
“Will she live?”
“Her brother says doctors are cautiously optimistic.”
Claire stared into her coffee.
Mara continued.
“Police cited the other driver at the scene.”
“For what?”
“Preliminary report says he may have fallen asleep.”
Claire nodded slowly.
The terrifying possibility shrank into something awful but ordinary.
She felt foolish.
Then she remembered Ethan saying Elise was trouble.
That part remained.
“Can her brother tell us anything?”
“He knows she was concerned about work.”
“Does he know why?”
“Only generally.”
“Will he talk to us?”
“Later.”
Claire looked toward the window.
Morning light had turned the parking lot gray.
“So Ethan probably didn’t cause the crash.”
“There is currently no reason to believe he did.”
The sentence loosened something in her chest.
She did not want Ethan to be that kind of man.
The absurdity of the thought made her angry.
Why should there be categories left to protect?
Why did part of her still need him to be bad only in acceptable ways?
Mara opened the paper bag.
“Eat.”
Claire looked inside.
Egg sandwich.
Banana.
Mara had apparently decided subtlety was wasted before breakfast.
“Do you order people around professionally?”
“Yes.”
“Successful business model?”
“Very.”
Claire ate half the sandwich standing up.
At seven-thirty, they left for Mara’s office.
It occupied the fourth floor of a restored brick building downtown, above a physical therapy clinic and beside an architecture firm.
Claire had expected glass walls and assistants moving at tactical speed.
Instead the reception area contained mismatched lamps, two dying plants, and a printer making a grinding noise from somewhere down the hall.
A young man at the front desk looked up.
“Morning, Mara.”
“Printer?”
“Considering death.”
“Let it.”
He noticed Claire and stood.
Mara said, “Claire Whitaker, this is Jonah Reed, my paralegal.”
Jonah was perhaps twenty-eight, with rumpled hair and a tie that appeared to have lost an argument.
“Coffee?”
Claire held up the hotel cup.
“Already armed.”
“Good.”
He looked at Mara.
“Conference room?”
“Yes.”
Jonah’s expression shifted.
“The bank sent another email.”
Mara stopped.
“When?”
“Six twelve.”
“What do they want?”
“Confirmation by noon that Monday’s execution is proceeding.”
Claire looked between them.
“What execution?”
Mara grimaced.
“Signing.”
“Maybe don’t call it execution.”
Jonah looked mortified.
“Yeah.”
Claire almost smiled.
Then the meaning caught up.
“Why noon?”
Mara took the printed email from Jonah.
She read it once.
“Because they’re getting nervous.”
“About what?”
“Probably the same things we are.”
Claire followed them into the conference room.
A stack of files already covered one end of the table.
Her father’s name appeared on several tabs.
Jonah set down a laptop.
“I pulled everything Elise shared before the accident.”
Claire looked at the files.
“How much is everything?”
Jonah glanced at Mara.
Mara said, “Enough to ruin your morning.”
Claire sat.
“Start.”
Mara remained standing.
“Before we do, there is something you need to understand.”
Claire waited.
“This is not just about recovering assets.”
“I know.”
“No.”
Mara sat across from her.
“You know emotionally.”
Her finger touched one of the files.
“I mean legally and financially.”
May you like
Claire disliked the distinction already.
“If the transactions are challenged, some of the Hartwell assets may be recoverable.”
