Chương 7
“My mother’s letters are proprietary family information?”
“I said the same thing, with fewer polite words.”
“What does that instruction mean?”
“It means they may try to claim the letters contain confidential information or stolen business records.”
“They were sent to Rosa.”
“I know.”
“Can they take them?”
“Not without a legal process.”
Leah looked at the lawyer’s card again.
Diana stood.
“One more thing. Mrs. Mercer is no longer staying at the hotel. She and Mr. Mercer have separated.”
“That isn’t my business.”
“No,” Diana said. “But it may become your burden.”
After she left, Leah called the attorney.
Marisol Vega’s office occupied the second floor above a dentist in Queens. There were no marble floors, no assistants in matching suits, and no place to park. Leah took the subway because the photographers outside her building followed the black car they assumed belonged to her.
Marisol was in her forties, with short gray-streaked hair and red glasses. She read the hotel statement, watched the gala video, and examined photographs of Claire’s letters.
“Do you want money?” she asked.
Leah stiffened.
Marisol raised one hand. “It’s not a moral test.”
“I want my job back.”
“You were offered your job back.”
“I want the firing not to have happened.”
“That service is outside my professional capacity.”
Leah looked toward the window. A pigeon walked along the sill with a piece of bread larger than its head.
“I want them to stop saying I planned this.”
“Who is saying that?”
“Eleanor’s friends. People online. Anonymous accounts.”
“Do you believe Mrs. Mercer is directing them?”
“I don’t know.”
“Good answer.”
“It doesn’t feel good.”
“Most legally responsible answers don’t.”
Marisol opened a notebook. “You were publicly accused of theft. The hotel has stated the accusation was false. Your employer removed you from work because of the publicity. There may be claims involving defamation, interference with employment, emotional harm, or other conduct, but I am not going to promise outcomes before we examine the facts.”
“I don’t want a lawsuit.”
“Then don’t file one today.”
“Can they take my mother’s letters?”
“Not because they dislike them.”
“What if the letters mention the hotel?”
“So do restaurant reviews. That doesn’t make them corporate property.”
Leah relaxed slightly.
Marisol leaned back. “The more serious issue is your privacy. Have you taken a DNA test?”
“No.”
“Do not use a consumer kit without understanding what you are agreeing to.”
“I wasn’t planning to.”
“Mr. Mercer may request a private test.”
“He already wants one.”
“Do you?”
Leah opened her mouth and found no answer.
Marisol waited.
“I want to know,” Leah said finally. “I don’t want him to own the knowing.”
“That distinction matters.”
“He keeps offering to fix things.”
“Powerful people often experience restraint as helplessness. They dislike helplessness.”
“You don’t like him.”
“I have never met him.”
“You said that like you don’t like him.”
“I dislike patterns. Men with resources tend to believe urgency belongs to them.”
Leah thought of Julian asking where the locket came from while she was still on the floor.
“What would a private test involve?”
“An accredited lab, documented collection, clear agreements regarding access and use. We would decide in advance who receives the result and what can be disclosed.”
“Could Eleanor stop it?”
“No.”
“Could Julian’s family?”
“No.”
Leah looked at the photograph of Claire.
“What if he isn’t my father?”
“Then you will know one thing.”
“And if he is?”
“You will know one thing.”
“That’s not helpful.”
“It is more helpful than pretending biology will answer the rest.”
Before Leah left, Marisol asked permission to send a formal notice to Eleanor’s attorney demanding that no false claims be made about Leah, the locket, or the letters.
“Will that make things worse?” Leah asked.
“It will make things more documented.”
“That sounds like worse with stationery.”
Marisol smiled. “You may be difficult.”
“Rosa said that.”
“I suspect she meant it affectionately.”
“She did not.”
Outside the office, Leah found Julian waiting beside a parked car.
She stopped so suddenly that a man behind her cursed and stepped around.
Julian held up both hands.
“I did not follow you.”
“How did you know I was here?”
“Marisol called my attorney to arrange a DNA process.”
“And your attorney told you where her office is?”
“He told me the firm. I guessed you might come in person.”
“You waited outside every office they have?”
“They have one.”
Leah stared at him.
He looked embarrassed, which did not excuse the intrusion but made it slightly less polished.
“I wanted to ask before I sent anything,” he said.
“Ask what?”
“Whether you would let me see the letters.”
“No.”
He nodded.
“That’s all?”
“No, but it is the only question I had a right to ask.”
She began walking toward the subway.
He followed at a careful distance.
“Stop following me.”
“I’m walking to the corner.”
“Walk slower.”
He did.
At the corner, they waited for the light. Two pedestrians recognized him. One lifted a phone. Julian turned his back to the camera, placing himself between it and Leah without touching her.
She noticed and resented noticing.
“You should go,” she said.
“I will.”
The light changed. Neither of them crossed.
Julian looked at the pale-green brooch pinned to her coat.
“My mother gave Claire that pin after Claire repaired the flowers at a wedding during a blackout. The refrigeration failed. She carried buckets of peonies up six flights because the service elevators stopped.”
“Claire wrote about stealing hotel slippers. Nothing about peonies.”
He laughed once. The sound surprised both of them.
“She did steal the slippers.”
“You knew?”
“She wore them in my apartment.”
Leah looked away.
There it was: a version of Claire she could never possess. Not mother, not faded photograph, but a young woman in stolen slippers crossing someone else’s floor.
Julian’s face changed when he saw the distance in hers.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
“For what?”
May you like
“For speaking as though my memories are gifts.”
The traffic light changed again.
