Part 10
“Yes.”
“You can’t remove them without destroying the plaster.”
“Yes.”
“Who was buying?”
“A development group working through an architectural salvage company.”
“Does the court filing mention that?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“It is not helpful to her argument that she should control the property.”
Lily returned to the table and pulled the letter toward her again.
Graham’s typed words blurred. She blinked until they sharpened.
Near the end, he wrote: Lily Hart is not receiving Bellweather because she is Anna’s daughter. She is receiving it because she is the person most likely to tell me when I am lying to myself.
Lily almost laughed.
He had lied to himself until the final paragraph.
She folded the copy.
“I want to sell it,” she said.
Claire’s face did not change. “All of it?”
“Yes.”
“To Eleanor?”
“To anyone.”
“That may become possible after the petition.”
“I want out.”
“I understand.”
“No, you understand the sentence. I want to give her the house and let the roof fall on her.”
“That is also understandable.”
“I want to send her the keys today.”
“Do not.”
“Why?”
“Because anger is not a conveyancing strategy.”
Lily pushed the chair aside. “Then prepare one.”
Claire watched her collect her coat. “Eleanor may not want the house if she cannot remove the interiors.”
“She wants to win.”
“Yes.”
“Then let her.”
Claire’s voice followed Lily to the door. “Your mother tried to stop Graham from abandoning Marianne’s plan.”
Lily’s hand froze on the handle.
“That does not obligate you to finish it,” Claire said. “But do not surrender the property today only because Graham’s guilt has made it feel contaminated. Contamination can be assessed. Some things can be cleaned. Some cannot. You know that better than I do.”
Lily looked over her shoulder. “Please don’t use my profession as a metaphor.”
“That was irritating.”
“Yes.”
“I apologize.”
Lily left anyway.
Outside, rain had begun without drama. She stood beneath the office awning while commuters moved around her, opening umbrellas and complaining into phones.
Her father called.
She let it ring.
Martin called from the restoration firm.
She answered that one.
“We need your project files,” he said.
“You removed my access.”
“I know. We need you to transfer the local notes.”
“They’re on the company server.”
“Your personal field sketches aren’t.”
Lily stepped closer to the wall as a man shook water from his umbrella beside her. “Those are mine.”
“They were made during company time.”
“They include private observations.”
“About the property?”
“About the work.”
“Then they may be discoverable.”
The legal word sounded strange in Martin’s mouth.
“Did Eleanor’s attorney contact you?” Lily asked.
A pause.
“We received a preservation notice.”
“When?”
“Yesterday.”
“You didn’t tell me.”
“I’m telling you now.”
“You’re asking me to hand over notebooks that may be used against me.”
“I’m asking you not to destroy or withhold anything.”
“I wasn’t going to destroy them.”
“I didn’t say you were.”
“You implied it.”
“Lily, everyone is nervous.”
She watched rain gather at the curb. “I’m the one who lost my job.”
“You are suspended.”
“My health insurance ends if the board makes it permanent.”
“We haven’t made anything permanent.”
“Are you still working for Eleanor?”
“We have other Whitmore projects.”
“That wasn’t my question.”
Martin exhaled. “We are completing existing obligations.”
“Inside Bellweather?”
“No.”
“Where?”
“I can’t discuss client locations.”
She laughed once. “Of course.”
“Send the notebooks to counsel. Do not send them directly to me.”
“I need copies.”
“Make copies.”
“They’re three hundred pages.”
“Then scan them.”
“With what? My imaginary office?”
Another pause.
Martin said, “I can authorize reimbursement at a copy center.”
The pettiness of it nearly broke her.
Lily ended the call and stood in the rain after the awning no longer covered her.
That evening, she went to her father’s townhouse.
He opened the door before she knocked. He was sixty-eight, broad through the chest, with gray hair cut too short because he trimmed it himself. He wore a red flannel shirt and held a wooden spoon.
“You’re wet,” he said.
“It’s raining.”
“I noticed.”
The house smelled of onions and cumin. A baseball game played silently on the television. On the kitchen table lay a printed article with Lily’s name in the headline.
She took off her coat.
Her father picked up the article and turned it facedown. “Soup?”
“What kind?”
“Bean.”
“You made bean soup after asking whether I manipulated a millionaire?”
“I had soaked them already.”
She sat.
He placed a bowl in front of her, then added bread without asking. For several minutes, they ate without speaking. The soup was too salty. He knew it. She knew he knew. Neither mentioned it.
Finally he said, “Your mother didn’t leave Bellweather over hours.”
Lily set down her spoon.
He looked at the muted game. “I figured you’d find out.”
“How long did you know?”
“Most of it.”
“Most?”
“She told me Graham threatened her career. She didn’t tell me what they argued about until she got sick.”
“And you said nothing.”
“She made me promise.”
“She’s dead.”
“A promise doesn’t automatically die.”
“That’s convenient.”
His jaw tightened. “It wasn’t my story to tell.”
“It became my story when he hired me.”
“I told you not to work there.”
“You said the commute was stupid.”
“It was.”
“You said rich families never pay invoices on time.”
“They don’t.”
“You could have said he destroyed her career.”
“He didn’t destroy it. She left.”
“Because he threatened her.”
“She could have fought.”
The sentence hung between them.
Her father looked down.
Lily felt anger rise so quickly that she had to grip the edge of the table. “Is that what you told her?”
“No.”
“Did you think it?”
“I thought a lot of ugly things when we were broke.”
“She took a job at a frame shop.”
“I know where she worked.”
“She lost her pension.”
“I know.”
“And you blamed her for not fighting a billionaire?”
May you like
“He wasn’t a billionaire then.”
“Thank you for the correction.”
