Chương 11
“What can you answer?”
“That the agreement is unusual.”
Logan closed his eyes.
Chelsea went pale.
I asked, “Unusual how?”
“There are references to an escrow arrangement, but the named escrow agent is not identified in the signature pages.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means I want the complete packet, not screenshots.”
Chelsea said, “That’s everything he sent me.”
“Then I want the email chain.”
“I deleted some of it.”
Fiona was silent.
“Why?”
“I clean out my inbox.”
Logan looked at her.
“You have twenty-seven thousand unread promotional emails.”
Chelsea shot him a look.
“I deleted his messages.”
That changed the room.
Fiona’s voice became more careful.
“Intentionally?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Chelsea’s face hardened.
“Because I was embarrassed.”
Nobody spoke.
She looked at me.
“After the investment went bad, I didn’t want Logan finding the emails.”
Sophie lowered her eyes.
Logan asked quietly, “Did you delete the texts too?”
Chelsea nodded.
He sat back.
The anger left him for a moment and something worse replaced it.
Exhaustion.
Fiona said, “Do not delete anything else.”
“I won’t.”
“And do not sign a release.”
“I haven’t.”
“Do not communicate with Mr. Mercer beyond preserving what he sends.”
Chelsea looked irritated.
“He said there’s a deadline.”
“There is always a deadline when somebody wants a signature quickly.”
That sounded like Fiona.
I almost smiled.
She continued.
“Forward me the agreement, emails you still have, payment records, and any bank transfers.”
Chelsea said nothing.
“Chelsea?”
“I used a cashier’s check.”
Fiona paused.
“Why?”
“He asked for one.”
“Do you have the receipt?”
“I think so.”
Logan looked at her.
“You think so?”
“It might be at the house.”
Fiona said, “Find it.”
After we ended the call, nobody moved.
Finally Sophie stood.
“I want cereal.”
Chelsea blinked at her.
“You just ate.”
“I’m still hungry.”
I pointed toward the cabinet.
“There’s oatmeal.”
“That is not cereal.”
“It is breakfast.”
“That was not my claim.”
She went into the kitchenette and opened cupboards until she found a box of bran flakes.
Her expression suggested betrayal.
“This is what you eat?”
“It keeps me regular.”
“Grandpa.”
Chelsea covered her face.
A laugh escaped her.
It surprised everyone.
Then she started crying.
Not loudly.
Just tears slipping down while she pressed her fingers to her eyes.
Logan watched her without moving.
Sophie stopped holding the cereal box.
“Mom?”
Chelsea shook her head.
“I’m okay.”
“No, you’re not.”
“I know.”
She laughed again through the tears.
“I don’t know why I said that.”
Sophie put the box down and crossed the room.
She hugged her.
Chelsea held her too tightly at first.
Then loosened her arms.
Logan turned toward the window.
I looked away because some moments should not have an audience even when everyone is standing in the same room.
After a while, Chelsea said, “You should go home with your dad.”
Sophie pulled back.
“Are you guys going to keep yelling?”
“No.”
Logan said, “We’ll try not to.”
Chelsea looked at him.
“Very reassuring.”
“It’s the best I have.”
That was the first honest thing he had said all morning.
Sophie gathered her backpack.
“I need my charger.”
“I packed it,” Logan said.
She checked.
“You packed the wrong one.”
He frowned.
“They all look the same.”
“No, they don’t.”
“They absolutely do.”
That argument lasted three minutes and had nothing to do with debt.
It felt almost normal.
Eventually Logan drove Sophie home.
Chelsea stayed.
She sat at my table staring at the cardboard box containing Margaret’s things.
“I didn’t know that watch mattered.”
I did not answer.
“I didn’t know any of it mattered that much.”
“You knew it was mine.”
“Yes.”
“That should have been enough.”
She nodded.
There was no defense in her face now.
“I thought you didn’t care.”
“Why?”
“You never asked about the storage unit.”
That hurt because it was true.
“I trusted Logan.”
“I know.”
“And he trusted you.”
Her jaw tightened.
“That is generous.”
“It was not meant to be.”
She folded one of the recipe cards between her fingers and then seemed to realize what she was doing.
She set it down carefully.
“I sold the table for four hundred dollars.”
I looked at her.
“The sewing table.”
“Yes.”
Margaret had paid ninety dollars for it in 1987.
Four hundred was probably fair.
That somehow made it worse.
“The cabinet?”
“Six fifty.”
“The lamps?”
“One hundred for the pair.”
I almost corrected her on their value.
Then I stopped.
It did not matter.
“What did you do with the money?”
“Business expenses.”
“All of it?”
“Mostly.”
“What does mostly mean?”
She looked at the floor.
“I used some for the mortgage.”
“How much?”
“About nine hundred.”
I leaned back.
“You were short on the mortgage?”
“Twice.”
“Did Logan know?”
“No.”
The answer came without hesitation this time.
“How long have you been covering shortages without telling him?”
“Almost a year.”
I rubbed my forehead.
“Why?”
“Because every time I told him we were tight, he panicked.”
“Then perhaps he needed to panic.”
“You don’t live with him.”
“No.”
She looked at me.
“That was the problem.”
I waited.
“He would come home, see you fixing something, see Sophie doing homework at the table, see dinner on the stove, and everything looked fine.”
“That was my fault?”
“No.”
She exhaled.
“Not exactly.”
“That sounds very close to yes.”
“I’m saying you made things easier.”
“I did.”
“Too easy.”
I stared at her.
The accusation was irritating because it was also true.
She continued.
“Whenever we were short, there was always some way around it.”
“Usually me.”
“Yes.”
“And you resented me for that?”
“I resented needing you.”
There it was.
The sentence was quiet.
No polish.
No performance.
I believed her.
“Then why ask me to leave?”
She looked toward the window.
“Because every time I saw you, I felt like you were keeping score.”
“I never discussed the money.”
“That made it worse.”
“How?”
“You never complained.”
May you like
“I’m beginning to suspect I should have.”
“You’d pay something, fix something, cover something, and then act like it was nothing.”
