Chương 3
“Yes.”
Another pause.
This one was shorter.
“All right,” he said.
“Tell me what happened.”
I told him.
When I finished, Arthur did not promise me revenge.
He did not say Mark would lose everything by morning.
He asked careful, irritating questions.
Who witnessed the slap?
Had Emma been medically examined?
Had I made a police report?
Did Mark threaten me physically?
Was Diane still at the house?
Had I accessed any joint accounts since leaving?
“Why does that matter?”
“Because tomorrow you’re going to be angry, and angry people sometimes make expensive decisions.”
“I’m already angry.”
“I know.”
“I want him out of my house.”
“Then we do it correctly.”
The words disappointed me.
Some primitive part of me wanted three police cars at sunrise and Mark’s belongings dumped onto the lawn.
Arthur knew better than to sell me that fantasy.
“The house is trust property,” he said, “but occupancy and marital rights still have to be handled lawfully.”
“So he gets to stay there?”
“For tonight, yes.”
I pressed my thumb into my forehead.
“That’s insane.”
“It’s procedure.”
“I hate procedure.”
“Most people do when they need it.”
From the bedroom, Emma coughed.
I lowered my voice.
“What can we do?”
“Tomorrow, quite a lot.”
My phone vibrated with another incoming message.
This one was from Thomas Vance.
I opened it while Arthur waited.
Clara, I’m sorry about tonight.
I need you to know several people saw exactly what happened.
Please don’t let Mark tell you otherwise.
A second message appeared before I could respond.
Also, we need to discuss something he said after you left.
I stared at the screen.
Arthur heard my silence.
“What is it?”
“I’m not sure.”
For the first time that night, the fear inside me changed shape.
“Arthur, I think leaving that party may have started something bigger than my marriage.”
Arthur was quiet for a beat.
“What did Vance say?”
“Just that Mark said something after I left.”
“Call him.”
“At one in the morning?”
“He texted you at one in the morning.”
I looked through the open bedroom door.
Emma had rolled toward Lily and tucked one arm around her little sister.
The sight made something tighten behind my ribs.
“I’ll call him tomorrow.”
“Fine.”
Arthur sounded as though he disagreed but had decided not to waste energy on it.
“Do not go back to the house alone.”
“I wasn’t planning to.”
“Do not move money tonight.”
“I heard you the first time.”
“And save every message.”
“I know.”
“Clara.”
“What?”
“You knew six months ago that something was wrong.”
I stared at the baseboard.
The paint had chipped near the corner.
“I knew Mark had a temper.”
“That isn’t what I said.”
“I’m tired, Arthur.”
“All right.”
His voice softened.
“Sleep if you can.”
I almost laughed.
Instead, I ended the call and sat there until my legs went numb.
At 2:14, Mark sent another message.
Mom says Emma exaggerated.
At 2:19, another one came.
Vance is making this into a business issue because he’s always had a thing for you.
At 2:23:
You need to fix this before morning.
I saved screenshots and turned the phone facedown.
Sleep came in pieces.
At six-thirty, Lily woke me by asking whether there were waffles.
There were not.
There was half a bag of stale granola, instant oatmeal, and a jar of mustard left by the previous tenant.
Lily inspected the pantry and said, “This house has bad food.”
Emma sat at the small kitchen table in my oversized college T-shirt.
The bruise looked darker in daylight.
I tried not to stare at it.
She noticed anyway.
“Does it look gross?”
“No.”
“It does.”
“It looks like somebody hurt you.”
She pushed the oatmeal around her bowl.
“That’s worse.”
Lily climbed onto the chair beside her.
“Grandma is mean.”
Emma looked down.
“Dad thinks she’s right.”
Lily frowned.
“Dad says lots of wrong stuff.”
I choked on my coffee.
Emma gave a reluctant smile.
“Like what?”
“He said pickles don’t belong on grilled cheese.”
For several seconds, the three of us sat there arguing about pickles.
It was ridiculous and ordinary, and I let it happen.
Then my phone rang.
Thomas Vance.
I stepped into the narrow living room and answered.
“Mr. Vance.”
“Thomas, please.”
His voice was lower than I remembered from the party.
“I hope I’m not calling too early.”
“We’re awake.”
“How is Emma?”
“Sore.”
“I’m sorry.”
He paused.
“I should have said something last night.”
“So should a lot of people.”
“That’s fair.”
I glanced toward the kitchen.
Emma was pretending not to listen.
“What did Mark say after I left?”
Thomas exhaled.
“There are two things.”
My hand tightened around the phone.
“Okay.”
“First, after you left, he told the room that you were unstable.”
I closed my eyes.
“He said you’d been threatening to take the girls and use your family money to destroy him.”
“That sounds like Mark.”
“He also said you’d been secretly trying to interfere with the firm.”
I opened my eyes.
“What?”
“That’s the second thing.”
His tone changed.
The apology was gone now.
He sounded like a man discussing a problem he had been turning over all night.
“We need to talk about the Harbor Point project.”
Mark’s firm had been chasing Harbor Point for almost a year.
It was the contract he mentioned before breakfast, during dinner, in bed, and once while Emma was trying to tell him about a school play.
Vance Development controlled the project.
If Mercer Architectural won the full design package, Mark claimed it would double the firm’s revenue.
“What about it?”
“Mark told me your trust was guaranteeing the firm’s performance obligations.”
I gripped the edge of the windowsill.
“It isn’t.”
“That’s what I suspected.”
My mouth went dry.
“What exactly did he tell you?”
“He said Sterling family assets were backing the expansion.”
“That’s impossible.”
“He showed me a letter.”
The room seemed to narrow.
May you like
“What kind of letter?”
“Something represented as confirmation from your trust counsel.”
