Chương 9
Katherine ignored her.
“The third-floor rooms are open. I have instructed the staff not to interfere.”
“Thank you,” Emma said.
“There are labels.”
“Of course.”
They climbed the stairs.
Small pieces of Emma remained throughout the house despite Katherine’s packing. A wool scarf hung behind the mudroom door. Her handwriting appeared on a note attached to the alarm panel. A half-empty bottle of shampoo stood in the guest bathroom because Brad preferred hers and never replaced it.
On the third floor, cardboard boxes filled the sitting room.
Katherine had labeled them by category.
WORK.
CLOTHING.
PERSONAL CARE.
FAMILY MATERIALS.
The last label bothered Emma.
She opened the box.
Inside were wedding albums, holiday photographs, birthday cards from Brad, and a framed picture of Katherine helping Emma fasten a necklace before a charity dinner. In the photograph, Katherine’s expression was concentrated and almost tender.
Emma closed the box.
Mara held up a tablet. “We’ll inventory before moving anything.”
“This will take hours.”
“Yes.”
Katherine stood in the doorway.
“The movers are booked at four.”
“No one told us,” Mara said.
“I told Brad.”
“Brad is not counsel.”
“He remains Emma’s husband.”
“Temporarily,” Mara said.
Emma gave Mara a look.
Mara lifted one shoulder. “I bill for restraint. I don’t promise miracles.”
Katherine’s mouth tightened.
They worked through the boxes.
Several items were missing: Emma’s mother’s gold bracelet, a set of architectural drawings signed by her father, two external hard drives, and the mate to the black heel already delivered to The Pinnacle.
Katherine denied knowing where any of them were.
Mara documented the missing property.
In the bedroom, Emma opened the closet and found Brad’s clothes occupying both sides. Her dresses had been removed. A cedar block she bought in Vermont remained on the shelf.
She picked it up.
Katherine stood behind her.
“Brad couldn’t sleep in the room with your things hanging there.”
“How long after I left did you clear them?”
“The next morning.”
Emma turned the cedar block in her hand.
“He asked you to?”
“He did not object.”
“That isn’t what I asked.”
Katherine crossed her arms.
“No.”
Emma put the block in her pocket.
From downstairs came the sound of the front door opening.
Brad’s voice carried through the hall.
“Mom?”
Katherine’s expression changed before she turned. “He was not supposed to come.”
Mara checked her phone. “His attorney confirmed he would remain away until six.”
Brad reached the third floor breathing hard, as though he had taken the stairs too quickly. He wore jeans and a navy sweater Emma had given him two Christmases earlier.
He stopped when he saw her.
“I thought you’d be done.”
“You knew the movers were coming at four?” Emma asked.
His gaze shifted to the boxes.
“My mother told me.”
“Did you tell Mara?”
“I told Paul.”
Mara held up her phone. “Paul says you did not.”
Brad rubbed the back of his neck.
“I left him a voicemail.”
“At one forty-eight,” Mara said. “Twelve minutes before the appointment.”
Katherine stepped between them with unconscious efficiency.
“This does not need to become another accusation.”
Brad looked at his mother.
“Please go downstairs.”
She stared at him.
“Brad.”
“Go downstairs.”
The request was quiet.
Katherine did not move at first. Emma watched the surprise settle across her face. Perhaps Brad had never used that tone with her. Perhaps he had used it in private and surrendered before she had to obey.
This time, he waited.
Katherine left.
The silence after her departure felt unstable.
Mara closed the inventory app.
“I’ll be in the hall.”
“You don’t have to leave,” Emma said.
“I know.”
She stepped outside anyway and remained within view.
Brad looked around the room.
“I moved into a furnished apartment near the office.”
Emma said nothing.
“It’s small.”
“You will survive.”
“I wasn’t asking for sympathy.”
“It sounded like information designed to produce it.”
He gave a tired, bitter smile.
“You really can’t stop, can you?”
“Stop what?”
“Taking every sentence apart.”
“Not when people hide inside them.”
Brad sat on the edge of the bed.
Emma remained standing.
“I gave Mara the account authorizations,” he said. “All of them.”
“That was required.”
“I could have fought it.”
“Yes.”
“I’m trying not to.”
“Thank you.”
The formal words frustrated him.
He pressed his palms together.
“The signature was wrong.”
“It was mine.”
“I know.”
“No, Brad. It looked like mine. It belonged to me. That is why it was wrong.”
He stared at the floor.
“I didn’t think of it as forging.”
“What did you think it was?”
“A renewal. Paperwork. My mother said the insurer needed it immediately, and you were in Toronto.”
“You could have called.”
“You were in meetings.”
“You could have waited.”
“She said the policy might lapse.”
“You could have signed your own name as property representative without pretending I had agreed.”
“I know that now.”
“You knew it then.”
Brad’s face tightened.
Emma saw the point where he might lie and the effort it took not to.
“I knew you would say no,” he said.
The honesty hurt more than the explanations.
“Why?”
“Because you had stopped paying from the joint account. You moved it to your personal account after we argued.”
“I moved the payment because you used the joint account for a business expense without asking.”
“It was twelve thousand dollars.”
“It was ours.”
“I replaced it.”
“Three months later.”
“I was under pressure.”
“So you responded by making sure I remained legally documented as your mother’s tenant.”
Brad stood.
“You want me to say I was trying to humiliate you.”
“I want you to say what you were trying to do.”
“I was trying to keep one thing from changing after I found out about the penthouse.”
“Why?”
“Because everything else had changed.”
Emma waited.
May you like
Brad walked to the window. From the third floor, the neighboring roofs and bare trees looked familiar and small.
“I found the tax notice three years ago,” he said. “I searched the address. Then I searched the ownership records. Henderson Trust. Henderson Urban. Your name everywhere once I knew where to look.”
