Chương 4
“I’m not angry at you,” he said.
“You are.”
“I’m angry.”
“At me.”
“At everything.”
“That includes me.”
He put both hands on the windowsill.
“When?”
“Last week. Your mother said it was permission to speak to the insurance company. I couldn’t focus. She kept tapping the line.”
“Was Brooke there?”
“Yes.”
“What did you sign?”
“I said I don’t know.”
He turned.
Natalie was crying, but quietly, with no change in her expression. Tears collected near her ears.
“I’m sorry,” he said again.
“Stop saying that while you’re still asking the same way.”
He returned to the chair.
For several minutes neither of them spoke. A cart rattled in the hallway. Someone laughed near the nurses’ station and immediately lowered their voice.
Ethan folded the wrapper from the cracker packet into smaller and smaller squares.
“I used to think you were safe because you were with my family,” he said.
Natalie looked at him.
“I didn’t want to see how much that belief helped me. I could work. I could leave. I could tell myself you had people around you.”
“You called.”
“Not enough.”
“You called every night.”
“And accepted every reason you couldn’t talk.”
She wiped her face with the edge of the blanket.
“Lorraine said you were relieved.”
The paper stopped moving between his fingers.
“Relieved by what?”
“Not seeing me like this.”
He shook his head.
“She said you stayed longer on projects because you couldn’t stand the smell of the hospital. She said you asked her not to tell you when I vomited. She knew details, Ethan.”
“Because I told her I was scared.”
“I know that now.”
He lowered his head.
He had confessed things to Lorraine during the first month after Natalie’s diagnosis—his fear of watching her disappear, his shame when he sometimes remained in the truck after parking, needing a minute before entering the house. Lorraine had listened with the solemn sympathy she used when collecting weaknesses. Ethan had mistaken being understood for being protected.
“I wasn’t relieved,” he said.
Natalie’s voice was flat. “I needed you to say that months ago.”
Morning entered slowly through the window. Natalie slept again near dawn. Ethan went downstairs and bought coffee he forgot to drink.
At six thirty, he called Marisol Chen, the attorney who had handled the estate after his father’s death. He had not spoken to her in almost two years.
“I need you at the house at nine,” he said.
“That sounds like something clients say before explaining why I should refuse.”
“My mother may have used my wife’s phone and signature for financial documents. There are bruises. The hospital documented them.”
Marisol became quiet.
“Do not confront anyone about forgery. Do not promise money. Do not remove documents that are not yours.”
“I already told them I’m getting nine hundred thousand dollars.”
“Why?”
“To keep them from running.”
“Ethan.”
“I need them to show me what they’re doing.”
“You need to avoid turning a bad situation into one where every piece of evidence is challenged because you manipulated them.”
“They manipulated my wife.”
“That does not give you immunity from being reckless.”
He leaned against the wall outside Natalie’s room.
“Can you come?”
“I can be there at nine thirty. I am not helping you trick them into transferring property.”
“Just listen.”
“That is not what you asked.”
He closed his eyes.
“Please.”
Marisol arrived at the mansion in a navy suit and low black shoes, carrying a legal pad instead of a briefcase. Ethan met her at the side gate.
The patio had been cleaned. The spilled soap water was gone. The trays had disappeared. White flowers now filled tall stone urns. The house looked untouched by the previous afternoon.
“You took photographs?” Marisol asked.
“Of Natalie’s injuries, the hospital did.”
“Of the patio?”
“No.”
“The clothing?”
“At the hospital.”
“Keep it.”
“It’s a nightdress.”
“It is potential evidence.”
He nodded.
Inside, Lorraine had arranged coffee and pastries in the breakfast room. Brooke wore pale blue trousers and an ivory top, her hair pulled back. Without the red dress and gold heels, she looked younger and more nervous. The SUV keys sat beside her cup.
Lorraine rose when Marisol entered.
“I thought this was a family conversation.”
“It is,” Ethan said.
“No. It is now a legal performance.”
Marisol took a chair. “Then you should call your lawyer.”
Lorraine’s gaze sharpened. “I have done nothing requiring one.”
Brooke looked at her mother.
Ethan placed his phone facedown on the table.
“I believe Natalie has been confused,” he said.
The words tasted wrong.
Lorraine relaxed by degrees.
“She is very ill.”
“I believe she may have misunderstood attempts to help her.”
Brooke exhaled.
Marisol did not look at him.
Ethan continued. “I also believe this family has financial problems no one has explained to me.”
Lorraine’s hand moved toward her pearls.
“Your father left a complicated structure.”
“He left Mercer Ridge Holdings with three equal membership interests.”
“And he left me the responsibility of protecting what he built.”
“You are the managing member. That isn’t ownership of everyone else’s share.”
“You never wanted involvement.”
“I do now.”
Brooke lifted her cup but did not drink.
Ethan looked at her. “Why did you need Natalie to unlock my banking app?”
Her cup struck the saucer.
“I didn’t.”
Natalie’s statement had not said it was definitely a banking app. Brooke’s reaction supplied more than the question.
Lorraine stepped in. “Your wife is medicated.”
“She was not medicated enough. Her pills disappeared.”
“That is absurd.”
“Show me the company books.”
Lorraine sat back. “The books are being reconciled.”
“By whom?”
“Our accountant.”
“What is his name?”
“You know his name.”
“I knew Dad’s accountant. He retired.”
Brooke’s foot moved beneath the table.
Marisol opened her legal pad.
Lorraine turned to her. “Are you recording this?”
“No.”
“I do not consent to being recorded.”
“No one asked you to.”
May you like
Ethan watched his mother gather herself.
“The mansion has expenses,” she said. “The rental properties lost tenants. Insurance increased. Your father’s investments did not perform as expected.”
