Chương 12
More certainty.
More time.
As if death might be delayed by requesting another spreadsheet.
Margaret had taken him by the shoulders and told him some things could not be managed.
He had hated her for saying it.
For a little while, she had hated herself too.
“It wasn’t your judgment,” she said.
“What was it?”
“My fear.”
Ethan looked at her.
Margaret rubbed the paper cup between her palms.
“When your father died, you started filling every empty hour.”
“I was working before Dad died.”
“Not like that.”
He looked away.
She continued.
“You stopped eating dinner at home.”
“I don’t live at home.”
“You know what I mean.”
“No.”
His voice sharpened.
“You mean I stopped living the way you thought I should.”
Margaret felt irritation rise.
“No.”
“That is exactly what you mean.”
“Ethan.”
“You hated that I moved into the city.”
“I hated the apartment.”
“It has an elevator.”
“It has glass everywhere.”
“That is not a reason.”
“It feels like a dentist’s office.”
He stared at her.
Then he laughed despite himself.
Margaret smiled.
For ten seconds, grief loosened its grip.
Then Ethan rubbed his face.
“You were worried I would marry the first person who made me slow down.”
“Yes.”
He looked at her.
Margaret sighed.
“And I was worried I would lose you.”
The room became quiet again.
Ethan’s expression softened.
“You were not losing me.”
“I know that now.”
“Do you?”
Margaret looked at him.
He sat again.
“You never call unless there’s a reason.”
“That is not true.”
“You call about trustees.”
“I call about holidays.”
“To confirm them.”
“You hate long phone calls.”
“I hate board calls.”
“You sound the same on both.”
He shook his head.
“This is what I mean.”
Margaret looked down.
He was right again.
That annoyed her.
He could see it.
“You make that face when you know I’m right.”
“What face?”
“That one.”
“I have one face.”
“You have seventeen.”
She almost laughed.
Then her phone buzzed.
This time the message came from Ray.
Two news vans had arrived outside the gate.
Another vehicle appeared to belong to a freelance photographer.
Ray had asked whether Margaret wanted a prepared statement.
She typed no.
Ethan watched.
“Reporters?”
“Yes.”
“How many?”
“Enough.”
He checked his own phone.
The video had passed half a million views.
Daniel had messaged again.
He had not uploaded it.
Someone else at the party had.
He was trying to identify who.
Ethan typed back.
Don’t.
Margaret saw it.
“Good.”
“I don’t want a witch hunt.”
“Neither do I.”
He gave her a look.
“You came dressed as a homeless woman to test my fiancée.”
“I am capable of learning.”
“Rapidly, apparently.”
Margaret stood.
Her knee buckled slightly.
Ethan caught her arm.
“That’s it.”
“What?”
“You’re getting that looked at.”
“It’s a bruise.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I have had bruises before.”
“You’re sixty-eight.”
Margaret stared at him.
He immediately winced.
“That came out wrong.”
“It came out accurately.”
“I meant you fell.”
“People over sixty-eight can fall without becoming archaeological material.”
He laughed again.
The sound helped.
Then he looked at her knee.
“I’m calling Dr. Singh.”
“At midnight?”
“He told you to call anytime.”
“He tells everybody that.”
“He means you.”
“That is exactly why I won’t.”
Ethan reached for his phone.
Margaret pointed at him.
“Do not.”
He stopped.
She sighed.
“Fine.”
His eyebrow lifted.
“Urgent care.”
“Now?”
“Tomorrow morning.”
“Tonight.”
“Ethan.”
“Mom.”
They stared at each other.
Margaret hated when he used her own voice against her.
“Fine.”
He nodded.
“Good.”
She narrowed her eyes.
“Enjoy it.”
“I am.”
A knock sounded at the door.
Ray entered without waiting.
He was fifty-seven, broad-shouldered, with close-cropped gray hair and the expression of a man who disliked surprises professionally.
His eyes went first to Margaret’s wet trousers.
Then to the chef’s jacket.
Then to the bruise visible below her hem.
“What happened?”
“Bad evening.”
“That is not a medical description.”
Ethan pointed at him.
“Thank you.”
Margaret ignored both men.
“How many outside?”
“Two stations, one independent, one guy with a camera who claims he’s covering weddings.”
“He is not.”
“No.”
Ray glanced at Ethan.
“The gate is locked.”
“Staff?”
“Leaving through the service entrance if they want.”
“Good.”
Ray looked at Margaret again.
“Your driver is five minutes out.”
“I did not call him.”
“I did.”
Ethan raised a hand.
Margaret gave him a look.
“You are both becoming irritating.”
Ray nodded.
“Excellent.”
He had worked for Margaret for fourteen years and was one of the few people on earth who could speak to her that way without consequence.
His gaze settled on the grocery tote.
“Phone still in there?”
“In my pocket.”
“Recording?”
“Saved.”
“Backed up?”
Margaret paused.
Ray frowned.
“Do that now.”
Ethan leaned against the desk.
“I thought we weren’t releasing it.”
“We aren’t.”
Ray looked at him.
“That has nothing to do with preserving it.”
Margaret took out the phone.
The video was still local.
She uploaded an encrypted copy to the secure family archive.
Ray watched until the progress bar finished.
“Better.”
Ethan looked at him.
“Can you keep that private?”
Ray’s expression did not change.
“That is my job.”
“I mean from our own people.”
Ray looked at Margaret.
She nodded.
“Need-to-know only.”
“Understood.”
Ethan’s phone rang.
He looked at the screen.
The name displayed was Melissa Grant.
Nobody spoke.
The phone continued ringing.
Ethan stared at it.
Then at Margaret.
“She should not have this number.”
Ray’s eyes sharpened.
Margaret felt the room tighten again.
“Do not answer.”
Ethan did not.
The call stopped.
Three seconds later, a voicemail notification appeared.
Then a text.
Please don’t delete anything.
I saw the video.
I think Vanessa may destroy records.
Ethan read it aloud.
Ray held out his hand.
“May I?”
Ethan passed him the phone.
Ray read the message twice.
“Do you know her?”
“Former foundation employee.”
“Complicated?”
“Yes.”
“Understatement?”
“Yes.”
May you like
Ray handed the phone back.
“Screenshot it and send it to counsel in the morning.”
