Chương 11
“Rough reception?”
“You could say that.”
She looked at the bruise again.
“Family?”
“Yes.”
She made a sympathetic sound without asking anything else.
I appreciated her for that.
My phone had accumulated twenty-three notifications.
Most were from people I barely knew.
Are you okay?
What happened?
Call me.
Someone had apparently posted a short video from the reception in a family group chat.
I did not open it.
Trevor had texted twice.
First: Maddie and I are at the hotel.
Then, twenty minutes later: I’m sorry about tonight.
Mom had sent one message.
Please let me know when you’re safe.
Dad had sent none.
That silence bothered me more than another angry text would have.
I ordered a rideshare home.
The driver was a college student named Jeremy who talked for twelve straight minutes about a roommate who refused to buy toilet paper.
I let him.
His complaint was so ordinary that it felt like medicine.
By the time we reached my building, I knew the roommate’s name, major, girlfriend’s name, and preferred brand of cereal.
“Sorry,” Jeremy said as I opened the door.
“I talk when I’m tired.”
“It’s okay.”
“You sure?”
“Honestly, it helped.”
He looked confused.
I tipped him too much.
My apartment felt strange when I stepped inside.
Nothing had changed.
The mail was still on the counter.
A coffee mug sat in the sink.
My shoes from Friday were near the couch because I had kicked them off instead of putting them away.
The normality of the place almost made me cry.
I locked the door.
Then I checked it twice.
My Honda was gone because I had traded it in for the Mercedes.
The Mercedes was still at the hotel.
I opened the manufacturer app and checked the vehicle location.
Still in the hotel parking garage.
Good.
I disabled every shared access permission and changed the account password.
Then I changed my email password.
Then the password for my firm’s document portal.
Then my bank.
Then I stopped.
The forged documents had made every login feel contaminated.
Rachel texted while I was icing my shoulder.
Do not keep changing things randomly.
I wrote back.
Were you watching me?
Her reply came immediately.
I know you.
Call me.
I called.
“You’re home?”
“Yes.”
“Alone?”
“Yes.”
“Door locked?”
“Twice.”
“Good.”
I leaned against the kitchen counter.
“Rachel.”
“Before you ask, the lender confirmed the freeze.”
“How bad?”
“They are reviewing every document connected to the increase.”
“And my accounts?”
“Your firm’s reserve account has not been transferred or pledged in any completed transaction.”
I exhaled.
“But?”
“But the attempted authorization matters.”
“Criminally?”
“Possibly.”
“Don’t lawyer me.”
“I am literally your lawyer.”
“You know what I mean.”
She sighed.
“I mean we do not know who created the documents, who submitted them, what representations were made, or whether anyone else participated.”
“Dad did.”
“You suspect Dad did.”
“I know his phone number was used.”
“You know a number associated with him was used.”
I closed my eyes.
“This is annoying.”
“My entire profession depends on annoying people at moments like this.”
“That explains a lot.”
“Good.”
The humor vanished from her voice.
“Now listen.”
I shifted the ice pack.
“I’m listening.”
“Tomorrow morning, we need to preserve your devices and business records properly.”
“Why?”
“Because if this becomes contested, you don’t want anyone claiming you altered something after learning about the documents.”
“I already changed passwords.”
“That’s fine for security.”
She paused.
“Do not delete emails, messages, logs, old drafts, anything.”
“I won’t.”
“Do not confront your father in writing.”
“Okay.”
“Do not make accusations on social media.”
“I wasn’t planning to.”
“Do not respond to the video.”
“What video?”
There was a pause.
“Oh.”
I sat straighter.
“What video?”
“Someone posted part of the reception online.”
“Where?”
“Instagram, I think.”
I opened the app before she could stop me.
My name was not tagged.
Madison’s was.
A bridesmaid’s cousin had posted a twenty-two-second clip.
Dad was visible holding up the Mercedes key.
Then me standing.
Then Madison crossing the floor.
The video cut off almost immediately after she grabbed my hair.
It had already been shared hundreds of times.
The caption said, Wedding gift drama got INSANE.
My stomach turned.
“Claire.”
“I’m looking.”
“Stop looking.”
“Too late.”
“Do not comment.”
“I won’t.”
“You sound like you want to.”
“I want to throw my phone through a wall.”
“That would complicate evidence preservation.”
I laughed despite myself.
Then my eyes filled.
The laugh dissolved halfway out.
Rachel went quiet.
I put the phone down.
“I hate this.”
“I know.”
“I don’t want strangers watching it.”
“I know.”
“I don’t want them deciding who we are.”
“They will.”
“That’s comforting.”
“It wasn’t meant to be.”
I wiped my face with the back of my hand.
Rachel continued.
“You cannot control what strangers say.”
“I know.”
“You can control what you add.”
“I know.”
“Good.”
She let the silence sit.
Then she said, “Tomorrow we start with documents.”
“Okay.”
“And Claire?”
“What?”
“Get some sleep.”
“I’m not tired.”
“You sound exhausted.”
“I’m furious.”
“You can be both.”
After we hung up, I put my phone facedown on the counter.
Five minutes later, I turned it over again.
The video had another hundred views.
I deleted the app from my home screen without deleting the account.
Then I made toast.
It was one in the morning.
I burned the first piece because I forgot it was in the toaster.
I ate the second standing at the counter.
At one-thirty, Mom called.
I watched the screen ring.
On the fifth ring, I answered.
“Hi.”
Her voice was small.
“Are you home?”
“Yes.”
“Did you see a doctor?”
“Yes.”
“What did they say?”
“Nothing broken.”
She exhaled.
“Thank God.”
I waited.
She said, “Madison keeps asking whether you’re pressing charges.”
“I don’t know what happens next.”
“That’s not what she wants to hear.”
“I’m not responsible for what she wants to hear.”
May you like
Mom was silent.
The sentence felt mean after I said it.
