Chương 12
“Good.”
“People are already doing it.”
“I know.”
“Tell them to work.”
Claire smiled faintly. “That was the plan.”
The forensic review found that Daniel had installed remote-access software on Claire’s office desktop eleven months earlier.
The program was marketed for technical support. It could record screens, transfer files, and log keystrokes. Daniel had configured it under the name System Update Service.
Nina remembered him “fixing the printer” one Saturday.
The discovery expanded everything.
Daniel might have seen Claire’s meeting with Ruth, her financial documents, client contracts, private messages, and passwords. Investigators could not yet determine the full extent. Some logs had been deleted.
Ruth referred Claire to a criminal attorney.
The criminal attorney advised filing a police report.
Claire sat in a precinct interview room under fluorescent lights and described the software, the ring, the banking attempts, and the cake incident. The detective listened without visible reaction. He asked why she had allowed Daniel access to the office.
“I didn’t.”
“He had a key?”
“He sometimes picked me up.”
“Did staff know him?”
“Yes.”
“Was he prohibited from using the computer?”
“I never imagined I needed to prohibit it.”
The detective nodded, not unkindly.
“People rarely write rules for someone they trust.”
Claire signed the report.
Outside, cameras waited across the street.
Someone had leaked that she was speaking with police.
Arthur denied it.
Daniel blamed Arthur publicly.
Celia’s attorney denied it.
Claire believed none of them completely.
That night, Daniel sent a message through the parenting application.
I heard you went to the police. Please consider what criminalizing me will do to Owen.
Claire read it six times.
She typed:
Please consider what your actions did to Owen.
Ruth told her not to send it.
The final response read:
All communication regarding the investigation should go through counsel. Please confirm Saturday’s visit.
Daniel replied:
Confirmed. I hope one day you recognize your father’s fingerprints on all of this.
Claire turned off the phone.
Owen sat on the living-room rug building a train track around the rented sofa. He held up two curved pieces.
“Which one?”
“They’re the same.”
“No. This one is more left.”
Claire sat beside him.
He was right. One curved slightly tighter.
“More left,” she said.
He connected it.
For ten minutes they built without speaking. The refrigerator hummed. A neighbor’s dog barked twice. Somewhere above them, someone dropped something heavy and swore.
Owen pushed the train along the completed track.
“Daddy says Grandpa wants him poor.”
Claire’s hand stopped.
“When did he say that?”
“On the call.”
The calls were supposed to be monitored by the parenting application, but Daniel had spoken while Owen carried the tablet toward the bathroom. The audio had been faint.
“What did you say?”
“I said Grandpa has a lot of money.”
Claire closed her eyes.
“Owen, money is not your job.”
“I know.”
“Grown-ups may say things that sound like you need to decide who is good or bad. You don’t have to decide.”
“Is Daddy bad?”
“No.”
The answer came too quickly.
She corrected herself.
“Daddy made choices that hurt me and scared you. That was wrong. People are more than one thing, but wrong things still matter.”
“Is Grandpa bad?”
Claire looked at the train loop.
“Grandpa loves us. He also tries to control what happens when he’s scared.”
“Like Daddy?”
The question was quiet.
Claire traced the edge of the track.
“Sometimes.”
“Like you?”
She looked at him.
“Yes,” she said. “Sometimes like me too.”
Owen nodded as though this was the first answer that made sense.
Arthur requested dinner on Sunday.
Claire agreed on three conditions: no lawyers, no security inside the apartment, and no discussion of Daniel in front of Owen.
Arthur arrived carrying a grocery bag and a toolbox.
“What is that?” Claire asked.
“The chair is unstable.”
“How do you know?”
“Owen told me.”
Arthur repaired the dining chair while Owen watched. He tightened two screws, discovered a stripped wooden joint, and complained that rented furniture was built by people who hated chairs.
Claire made pasta.
Arthur overcooked the garlic while she answered a work call. The apartment filled with smoke, and the alarm began shrieking. Owen covered his ears. Arthur stood beneath the alarm waving a dish towel with the indignity of a man fighting an enemy too small to purchase.
Claire opened the windows.
For a few minutes, they laughed.
Then Owen went to choose a movie.
Arthur sat at the repaired chair and turned it carefully beneath his weight.
“I frightened your mother,” he said.
Claire remained by the stove.
He did not look at her.
“Not physically,” he added. “I never—”
“You don’t need to separate yourself from Daniel in every sentence.”
His mouth closed.
The pasta water boiled over. Claire lowered the heat.
Arthur folded the paper napkin beside his plate.
“Your mother avoided telling me things,” he said. “I believed that meant she was deceptive. It did not occur to me that she was tired of the cost.”
Claire stirred the sauce.
“What made it occur to you now?”
“You.”
“That’s convenient.”
“Yes.”
He accepted the insult.
Claire carried the pot to the table.
“Did you know about Daniel’s loan problems before he asked me to marry him?”
“No.”
“Did you investigate him?”
“Of course.”
“What did you find?”
“Ambition. Debt. A father who left. A mother who worked two jobs. An impressive ability to make older men believe they had discovered him.”
“That isn’t a crime.”
“No.”
“Did you find Celia?”
“No.”
“The software?”
“No.”
“The financial statement?”
“No.”
Arthur picked up his fork, then put it down.
“I assumed his danger was that he wanted access to your name,” he said. “I did not consider that he also wanted access to your uncertainty.”
Claire sat opposite him.
“He made being with him feel like rebellion.”
“I know.”
“You helped.”
“I know.”
May you like
Those two words cost Arthur more than any apology she had heard from him.
Owen returned carrying three movies and placed them on the table.
