Chương 9
He looked at me over his glasses.
“Good.”
“What?”
“You still have a sense of humor.”
“I’m not sure that’s what this is.”
“Close enough.”
He had already reviewed the trust documents Margaret provided.
For almost an hour, he asked questions that made me uncomfortable.
When had Curtis first discussed divorce?
Had he threatened me before?
Whose name was on our bank accounts?
Did I contribute financially before becoming Arthur’s caregiver?
Had Arthur ever promised me money?
Had I asked him to change his will?
Did I know about the transfers?
Had Curtis ever used my phone, laptop, email, or electronic signature?
That last one stopped me.
“Why?”
Daniel leaned back.
“Because if money moved without authorization, I want to know every route through which Curtis might try to explain access.”
“He knows my passwords.”
“Which ones?”
“Some.”
“Change them.”
“He doesn’t know my bank password.”
“Change it anyway.”
I crossed my arms.
“This feels like you already think he stole the money.”
“I think someone moved it.”
“You’re doing the Margaret thing.”
“What thing?”
“Refusing to say what everyone in the room is thinking.”
Daniel smiled.
“That is expensive professional training.”
I did not smile back.
He folded his hands.
“Vanessa, suspicion is useful for deciding what to protect.”
He paused.
“It is dangerous when you start calling it proof.”
I looked down.
“Fine.”
“Now tell me about the house.”
“What about it?”
“What did you leave behind?”
“Most of my life.”
“I need specifics.”
So I gave them.
Documents in the filing cabinet.
Family photographs.
My mother’s jewelry box.
Winter clothes.
Arthur’s medication notebooks.
A laptop I had stopped using because the battery barely held charge.
Boxes of tax records.
My passport.
Daniel interrupted.
“Your passport is there?”
“Yes.”
“That needs to come out.”
“I can get it.”
“Not alone.”
“I lived there for ten years.”
“You no longer control access.”
The sentence landed harder than I expected.
“I’m not asking permission to pick up my own things.”
“I didn’t say permission.”
“You said not alone.”
“Because there is now a financial dispute, a marriage dispute, and potentially a dispute involving unauthorized transfers.”
He pointed toward his desk.
“Those three things in one house are how ordinary belongings turn into accusations.”
I hated that he sounded reasonable.
“So what do I do?”
“We send formal notice requesting supervised retrieval.”
“To my own husband.”
“To opposing counsel.”
“I hate this.”
“That doesn’t make it unnecessary.”
On Monday morning, Curtis’s attorney responded.
He agreed to let me enter the house Tuesday at two, accompanied by counsel, for ninety minutes.
Ninety minutes to remove ten years.
I stared at the email in Daniel’s office.
“He gave me a time limit?”
“His attorney did.”
“Can they do that?”
“They can propose it.”
“And if I refuse?”
“We argue.”
“I’m tired of arguing.”
“You have barely started.”
I looked at him.
“Thank you.”
“That sounded hostile.”
“It was.”
Tuesday afternoon, Daniel met me at the end of the driveway.
The house looked exactly as it had the morning I was thrown out.
That offended me more than if Curtis had painted it pink.
The hydrangeas needed water.
A package sat by the garage.
One upstairs blind hung crooked because I had never gotten around to fixing it.
My key no longer worked.
Daniel noticed.
“Did he change the locks?”
“Yes.”
“Was that before or after the will reading?”
“Before.”
He wrote something down.
Curtis opened the door.
For a moment, none of us spoke.
He wore jeans and a blue shirt I had bought him for our anniversary the year before.
That felt deliberate.
“Vanessa.”
“Curtis.”
He looked at Daniel.
“You didn’t need to bring him.”
Daniel said, “Your lawyer disagrees.”
Curtis ignored him.
“You look tired.”
I almost turned around.
Instead, I stepped inside.
The house smelled different.
Not dramatically.
Someone had burned an expensive candle in the entryway, cedar and smoke instead of the lemon cleaner I used.
A framed photograph of Curtis and me was gone from the console table.
In its place stood a silver bowl full of unopened mail.
My chest tightened.
“Ninety minutes,” Curtis said quietly.
“Your attorney already covered that.”
“I didn’t choose the time limit.”
“Of course not.”
His mouth twitched.
Daniel moved toward the stairs.
“I’ll stay within sight but give you space.”
Curtis watched him go.
“Is this really necessary?”
“You changed the locks.”
“I was angry.”
“You keep using that like weather.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means you talk about anger as if it happened to you.”
He stared at me.
Then his eyes dropped.
“I handled things badly.”
“That’s one way to describe it.”
“I was grieving.”
“So was I.”
“I know.”
“No, you didn’t.”
He looked at me again.
Something in his face softened.
This time it almost seemed real.
“I know now.”
For one dangerous second, I wanted to believe him.
Then I saw the unopened mail.
On top was an envelope from Brennan, Cole & Mercer.
My name had been written on it in Arthur’s handwriting.
I stepped toward the table.
“What is that?”
Curtis moved at the same time.
Too quickly.
He put his hand over the envelope.
“Nothing.”
Daniel’s voice came from the staircase.
“Take your hand off it.”
Curtis froze.
The room changed.
Not loudly.
Not dramatically.
But the fear I had seen in the conference room returned to his face.
Daniel descended the last two steps.
“Who opened that mail?”
“Nobody.”
“It’s addressed to Vanessa.”
Curtis looked at me.
“It came after you left.”
I reached for it.
He did not move his hand.
“Curtis.”
“It’s just something Dad wrote.”
“Then give it to me.”
“You don’t need to read everything he wrote.”
I stared at him.
That was the moment the house stopped feeling like the place where I had been abandoned and started feeling like a place where something had been hidden.
Daniel took out his phone.
May you like
“I’m documenting that you are withholding mail addressed to my client.”
Curtis swore and lifted his hand.
