Chương 10
“What did the email say?”
“That you’re receiving treatment and he’ll coordinate leave paperwork.”
Claire gripped the phone. “He doesn’t coordinate anything for me.”
“I know. It was weird.”
“Did you answer him?”
“No. Martin did. He said HR would contact you directly.”
Claire exhaled carefully. “Is my office locked?”
“Yes.”
“Was there a tablet in my desk?”
A pause.
“Jenna?”
“Dominic picked it up last week.”
Claire closed her eyes.
“He came by around six,” Jenna continued quickly. “You were at the Milwaukee site. He said you asked him to grab it because you needed the old project photos. He knew which drawer. He had a key.”
“I never gave him a key.”
“He had one.”
“Did you see him take anything else?”
“Just the tablet and a charger, I think. Maybe papers. I was packing samples.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“He’s your husband.”
The phrase had become a door everyone used to leave the room.
Jenna’s voice dropped. “Claire, what happened?”
Claire looked toward the bruises on her arm. “He hurt me.”
Silence.
“Like—”
“He broke three ribs. He choked me.”
Jenna made a small sound, then immediately said, “Oh my God,” too loudly.
Claire flinched. “Please don’t.”
“I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I just—Dominic?”
“Yes.”
“But he—” Jenna stopped herself. “No. That was stupid.”
“What?”
“I was going to say he’s always so nice.”
“He is.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
“I know.”
Jenna began to cry. Claire resented her for it. The resentment arrived before compassion and stayed longer.
“Did you ever see anything?” Claire asked.
“I saw bruises.”
“You said nothing.”
“You said you bruised easily.”
“I do.”
“I thought—God, Claire, I don’t know what I thought. I thought maybe cosmetic injections. Or you bumped into things. That sounds insane.”
“It sounds convenient.”
Jenna went silent.
Claire immediately regretted it, then decided regret did not make the sentence untrue.
“I’m sorry,” Jenna said.
“Do not apologize until I know whether you’re going to help.”
“What do you need?”
“Forward Dominic’s email to me, Naomi, and Detective Bennett. Save security footage from the night he took the tablet. Ask facilities not to delete access logs. Don’t tell Martin details yet.”
“Okay.”
“And Jenna?”
“Yes?”
“Change the code to my office.”
“I’ll do it now.”
After the call, Claire lay back and watched a pigeon walk along the parking garage ledge. It pecked at something invisible, paused to look toward the window, then flew away.
She missed being angry about ordinary things. A delayed shipment. The wrong stone sample. Jenna scheduling two meetings over lunch. She missed the version of herself whose worst afternoon could be repaired by coffee and a revised floor plan.
Naomi called with another discovery.
The recorded consent call attached to one insurance policy had not used Claire’s voice.
“It’s your mother,” Naomi said.
Claire did not answer.
“The caller identifies herself as you. The recording is short. She confirms your date of birth, address, and consent to electronic signature.”
“My mother doesn’t sound like me.”
“Not to anyone who knows you. To a verification vendor handling thousands of calls, an adult woman with the correct information may have been enough. We need the insurer’s full file before drawing conclusions.”
“Play it.”
“Claire.”
“Play it.”
Naomi played the recording through her computer.
A woman answered a series of questions. Name. Date of birth. Address. Confirmation that she understood the application. The voice was lower than Claire’s and more measured. Lorraine pronounced insurance with a faint emphasis on the second syllable, a habit Claire had teased since childhood.
At the end, the verifier asked whether the applicant authorized the policy.
Lorraine said, “Yes, of course.”
Claire listened twice.
“Maybe Dominic told her it was paperwork for something else,” she said.
“Possibly.”
“She wouldn’t knowingly pretend to be me for life insurance.”
Naomi did not reply.
“She wouldn’t.”
“I heard you.”
“That isn’t agreement.”
“No.”
Claire pushed the call button and asked the nurse for pain medication.
Lorraine arrived at the hospital the following morning wearing the pink dress she had worn during the first video call. Whether it was the same day in her mind or she had chosen the dress deliberately, Claire could not tell. Her diamond earrings were still in place.
Security called before sending her upstairs. Claire nearly refused. Then she remembered the recorded voice saying, Yes, of course.
“Let her come,” Claire said.
Lorraine entered carrying a white orchid in a glass pot. She looked at the bruises around Claire’s throat and began to cry immediately, though she made no sound.
Claire watched her set the orchid on the windowsill beside a plastic water pitcher.
“Those are toxic to dogs,” Claire said.
Lorraine wiped beneath one eye. “Milo isn’t here.”
“He will be when I go home.”
“I’ll take it.”
“Why are you wearing the same dress?”
Lorraine looked down. “It isn’t the same.”
“It is.”
“I own more than one pink dress.”
Claire almost smiled. It was such a Lorraine answer—offended by inaccuracy even while standing inside catastrophe.
“Sit down,” Claire said.
Lorraine sat. She held her purse on her lap with both hands.
“Dad told me about North Orchard.”
“He had no right.”
“It received my money.”
“Dominic said it was structured lending.”
“Did you pretend to be me on an insurance call?”
Lorraine’s fingers tightened around the purse.
Claire took the phone from the tray table and played the recording.
The room filled with Lorraine’s voice authorizing insurance on Claire’s life.
Lorraine closed her eyes.
When it ended, Claire said, “Explain.”
“I thought it was a verification for the mortgage.”
“It asks about life insurance.”
“Dominic said the lender required coverage because your assets supported our loan.”
“You said you were me.”
“He told me the system would reject the call if I identified myself.”
“And that seemed normal?”
“No.” Lorraine opened her eyes. “It seemed necessary.”
“For what?”
“The house. The bridge loan. Keeping your father from collapsing.”
“Dad lost a million dollars.”
May you like
“More.”
Claire stared at her.
