Chương 9
“You went through her office?”
“No. I was told to pack personal items. There was a list of things for storage and things for the hotel.”
“What did you find?”
“A folder with your name.”
Mara sat on the edge of the bed.
“What was inside?”
“Copies of emails. School forms for Theo. The contractor estimate for your townhouse. A printout of your bank balance.”
Mara’s skin went cold.
“How would she have my bank balance?”
“I don’t know.”
“Where is the folder?”
“I left it in the desk.”
“And Mercer just entered the office.”
“Yes.”
“Go back and look.”
“I’m not supposed to be there.”
“He may have taken it.”
“I know.”
Mara heard Sofia breathe.
“I photographed some pages,” the assistant said.
“Why?”
“Because yesterday everyone kept saying they needed proof.”
The photographs arrived one at a time.
The first showed a typed summary of Mara’s finances, including an estimate of the insurance payout for the damaged townhouse. The second contained an email between Isabelle and a private investigator discussing whether Mara had “stable independent housing.” The third was a copy of a preschool withdrawal form bearing Mara’s scanned signature.
Theo had not been withdrawn from preschool. At least Mara did not think he had.
She called the school.
The director confirmed that an electronic withdrawal request had arrived ten days earlier, effective at the end of the month. The form stated that Theo would be relocating to the Vale estate permanently.
Mara stood so quickly the bed frame struck the wall.
“Who submitted it?”
“We assumed you did,” the director said.
“I did not.”
“The email came from your address.”
Mara opened her laptop. Her sent folder contained no request.
Then she remembered the family computer in the guesthouse study. She had signed into her email there once to print Theo’s medical form. The browser may have saved her password.
The juice was no longer an isolated act.
Isabelle had been constructing a story in which Mara intended to remain at the estate. Perhaps she meant to show Arthur that his daughter was quietly moving in. Perhaps she wanted evidence that Mara lied about her plans. The school form, the bank summary, the contractor estimate—each item pushed toward the same conclusion.
Mara was dependent. Mara was secretive. Mara wanted the house.
And if Mara could be made to leave in anger before the trust meeting, Isabelle could present that departure as manipulation.
The realization did not make Isabelle seem more powerful. It made her seem desperate and frighteningly patient.
Arthur returned the repaired airplane at five ten.
Dana arrived five minutes later after Mara called her from the bedroom. Eleanor came with Arthur. Jules ordered takeout because no one had eaten lunch.
They sat around the small dining table while Theo flew the airplane over the sofa, unaware that the adults were discussing the theft of his mother’s identity in voices kept artificially calm.
Arthur studied Sofia’s photographs on Dana’s tablet.
“I did not authorize an investigator,” he said.
“Could the foundation have paid for one?” Dana asked.
“No.”
“Could Isabelle approve that expense?”
“Up to a limited amount.”
“What limit?”
Arthur named it.
Dana looked at him. “That would cover a basic background report.”
Eleanor held the preschool form by its edges.
“She used Mara’s signature.”
“It appears so,” Dana said. “We should confirm the metadata and obtain the school’s original email.”
Arthur removed his glasses.
“Why withdraw him?”
“To make it look as if I planned to stay,” Mara said.
“That would help you.”
“It would help her argument that I came back for the estate.”
Arthur looked at the trust amendment lying beside the takeout menus.
“She believed I was replacing her.”
“You were changing the trust.”
“It is my trust.”
“And she was organizing your life, managing your foundation schedule, selecting which documents reached you, and monitoring your daughter.”
Arthur’s face reddened. “I was not controlled.”
No one spoke.
His defensiveness answered the question more honestly than denial could.
Theo swooped the airplane near the table.
“Not over the food, buddy,” Mara said.
He changed direction without complaint.
Arthur watched him go.
“I told Isabelle about the amendment,” he said.
Eleanor looked up. “You said she found it.”
“She did. Later. But I told her first.”
“When?”
“Three weeks ago.”
“What exactly did you say?” Dana asked.
Arthur bristled at being questioned in Jules’s cramped apartment by a lawyer whose surfboard-owning paralegal had charged him for two document requests.
“I said Mara might join the board. I said the estate should remain in the family.”
“Did you tell Isabelle what she would receive?”
“Yes.”
“How did she react?”
“She said she understood.”
Mara laughed softly.
Arthur ignored her.
“She asked whether I intended to marry her,” he continued.
“And?” Eleanor said.
“I said the trust and the marriage were separate matters.”
Jules returned from the kitchen with paper plates. “I don’t know her, but that sounds like a bad answer.”
Arthur looked offended.
“It is an accurate answer.”
“Accurate answers can still start fires.”
Dana brought the conversation back. “Did Ms. Laurent have access to Mara’s guesthouse computer?”
Arthur frowned. “The staff has access for maintenance.”
“Isabelle is not maintenance.”
“She has the master code.”
“Had,” Mara said.
Arthur looked at her.
“She had the master code. Change it.”
He took out his phone and called security.
The speed of that action irritated Mara almost as much as the earlier delay. Arthur moved efficiently once a problem fit a category he respected. Unauthorized access, financial irregularities, compromised passwords—these were clean risks. A child’s frightened face had been messier.
Dana advised Mara to report the forged school withdrawal and unauthorized access. She did not promise that either would be prosecuted. The school’s email records and the investigator’s contract would matter. So would proof that Isabelle, rather than someone else, had submitted the form.
“I don’t want this in the press,” Arthur said.
May you like
Mara turned toward him.
He raised one hand. “That is not the same as asking you to remain silent.”
