Chương 3
Evelyn walked to the sofa and picked up Julian’s phone. He had left it there again. She regarded the black screen, then placed it on the side table instead of taking it.
“Sit,” she said.
Claire looked at the sofa cushion where the phone had fallen.
“I’d rather stand.”
Evelyn nodded once. “Then stand.”
The permission irritated Claire. She was tired of being granted things she had already chosen.
Evelyn opened the cream folder and read the agreement from beginning to end. She did not skim. Claire watched the older woman turn each page, her diamond earring catching the light whenever she lowered her head. The room smelled faintly of furniture polish and the white lilies Evelyn insisted on keeping near the west windows even though their perfume gave Julian headaches.
At last Evelyn said, “Did you sign anything?”
“No.”
“Did you initial any pages?”
“No.”
“Did you send Adrienne a message agreeing to resign?”
“No.”
“Did you tell Julian you would?”
“I said I needed to understand what they were accusing me of.”
“That is not the same question.”
Claire’s fingers tightened around her sleeve. “I told him I’d consider signing if the company gave me copies of the invoice history and access logs.”
Evelyn’s gaze lifted. “In writing?”
“Yes.”
“Show me.”
“My phone is upstairs.”
“Bring it down.”
Claire did not move.
Evelyn closed the folder. “What?”
“I don’t want to give you my phone either.”
A small pause.
“Good,” Evelyn said.
Claire stared at her. “Good?”
“You said no to Julian. Now you’ve said no to me. I prefer consistency when I am trying to determine whether someone can be pressured.”
“That sounds less like concern than an evaluation.”
“It is both.”
The honesty landed harder than a lie would have.
Evelyn walked toward the doorway. “You need ice for your wrist.”
“I can get it.”
“I know.”
“Then stop telling me what I need.”
Evelyn turned back. The dangerous stillness remained, but something tired had entered it.
“You are right.”
Claire waited.
Evelyn added, “I am not accustomed to being right silently.”
“That isn’t an apology.”
“No.”
“Was one coming?”
“Not yet.”
Despite herself, Claire let out a breath that was almost a laugh. Evelyn noticed but did not smile.
“I will be in the library,” she said. “No one will enter your room. No one will remove your laptop. No one will touch your accounts before morning.”
“You can’t promise that.”
“I can promise what happens in this house.”
“My accounts aren’t in this house.”
Evelyn’s face changed.
Claire saw the exact second the older woman understood.
She went upstairs without waiting to be dismissed.
The bedroom Claire shared with Julian occupied the south corner of the second floor, though shared had become a technical word. Julian slept there when he wished to reassure her, or when guests were staying, or when his grandmother had begun asking why his pillow in the adjoining dressing room always looked used. Most nights he remained awake downstairs until two, then slept wherever he dropped.
Claire locked the door.
The room was too large for one frightened person. Cream walls, pale carpeting, a fireplace they had never lit, photographs chosen by a decorator who had asked Claire to wear neutral colors during the engagement shoot. On the bedside table, her phone showed nine missed calls.
Seven were from Julian.
Two were from Adrienne.
A bank alert waited beneath them.
TRANSFER COMPLETED: $38,000.00.
For a moment, the number seemed abstract. Then Claire opened the joint account.
The balance was $412.63.
She sat on the edge of the bed.
The transfer had gone to an account ending in 7710, an account she did not recognize. She refreshed the screen, a useless action, and watched the same number return.
Her first impulse was to call Julian.
Her second was to call Evelyn.
She did neither.
In the bathroom, she wrapped ice in a washcloth and held it against her wrist. The mirror showed a woman with tangled hair, a pale face, and a satin dress creased from the floor. Claire looked away before she could begin arranging herself into something more presentable. She had spent much of her marriage correcting the evidence of whatever had just happened.
Her laptop remained on the desk. The company seal was pressed into the black cover. When she opened it, the login screen accepted her password and requested a verification code.
The code arrived on her phone.
Claire entered it.
ACCESS SUSPENDED.
She tried again, though the message was clear.
ACCESS SUSPENDED. CONTACT YOUR ADMINISTRATOR.
Her personal cloud folder opened on her phone. Three weeks earlier, after seeing the first unfamiliar invoice approval, she had photographed several screens. Julian had teased her for being paranoid when he found her awake at four in the morning comparing timestamps.
She had deleted the pictures after he promised the issue was harmless.
Her deleted folder was empty.
Claire stared at it until the screen dimmed.
She had given Julian her passcode in Connecticut, six months earlier, when she was driving and needed him to answer a message from the gallery. She had never changed it. Married people did not need to guard small doors from one another. That was something she had believed with embarrassing sincerity.
A knock came at the bedroom door.
“Claire.”
Julian.
She set the ice aside.
He tried the handle once, gently.
“Open the door.”
“No.”
“I need my phone.”
“Your phone is downstairs.”
A pause. “Right.”
She heard his hand slide across the wood.
“Grandmother’s acting insane.”
Claire said nothing.
“She hit Adrienne.”
“I was there.”
“That’s not normal.”
“No.”
“And now she’s going to turn this into some war because that’s what she does.”
“What did you transfer?”
The hallway went silent.
Claire stood and moved closer to the door.
“Thirty-eight thousand dollars left the joint account ten minutes ago.”
“It was my money.”
“My salary went into that account.”
“Most of that balance came from me.”
May you like
“We agreed it was ours.”
“I moved it somewhere safe.”
