Chương 7
“He did not enter. He spoke to Beatrice over the intercom.”
“What did he say?”
“The system recorded audio.”
“Marcus.”
“He asked whether she had found the phone.”
The cafeteria noise seemed to recede.
“What did Beatrice say?”
“That Clara did not have it.”
“But she did.”
“Yes.”
“Then Beatrice lied to him.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Marcus looked toward the windows. “Possibly because she was trying to protect Clara.”
Julian’s first reaction was irritation. He wanted Beatrice’s guilt uncomplicated.
“Or herself,” he said.
“Both can be true.”
“What happened next?”
“Elliot said Clara was unstable and dangerous. He asked Beatrice to keep her inside until he could bring a physician. Beatrice said she had already called Dr. Wren.”
“Did he come back?”
“No.”
“Why didn’t you tell me this at the estate?”
“I did not know the intercom had retained it.”
“You were head of security.”
“I was also trying not to discover how badly I had failed.”
The honesty irritated Julian more than an excuse would have.
He rubbed the scar at the base of his thumb, a thin white line from a model-making knife in architecture school. “Why did you obey her?”
“Beatrice signed my checks.”
“That’s not enough.”
“No.”
“Then why?”
Marcus stared at the coffee between them. “My brother had a breakdown when we were young. He walked into traffic during one episode. When Dr. Wren said Clara might harm herself, I believed the risk of letting her leave was greater than the risk of keeping her inside.”
“Clara said she was going to the police.”
“I know.”
“And you decided she wasn’t competent.”
“Yes.”
“Because a doctor said so.”
“Because believing the doctor allowed me to avoid a harder decision.”
Julian had no answer to that. It resembled too many choices he had made around his father.
Marcus stood. “I am not asking you to forgive me.”
“Good.”
“I am asking whether Clara will need security after discharge.”
“You resigned.”
“I resigned from the Ashford estate.”
Julian looked at him.
Marcus continued. “I can recommend someone independent. Preferably a woman. Clara should choose.”
That last sentence mattered.
Julian nodded once. “Send her the names. Not me.”
Clara asked to see Julian that evening.
She was sitting upright when he entered, her hair tied loosely at the back of her neck. The bruises on her wrists had darkened. She had removed her wedding ring and placed it on the bedside tray beside the broken bracelet clasp.
Julian sat in the chair near the window.
“You look terrible,” Clara said.
“So do you.”
“Mine is medically documented.”
“Mine is architectural.”
Her mouth moved slightly, not quite a smile.
He waited.
Clara picked at the corner of the hospital blanket. “Elliot says you threatened him.”
“I asked him to roll up his sleeves.”
“That sounds threatening when you do it.”
“He said you attacked him.”
“I threw a glass.”
“At him?”
“At the wall.”
“Was he near the wall?”
“Yes.”
Julian looked down at his hands.
Clara continued. “He had my phone. I tried to take it. He grabbed my wrists. I kicked him. He hit me in the ribs. I bit his hand.”
“Did you photograph it?”
“He wore gloves when he came here.”
Julian looked toward the door. “Ortiz should know.”
“She does.”
“Good.”
Clara’s eyes hardened. “Stop saying good like this is one of your meetings.”
He leaned back.
She touched the bruise near her right wrist. “I went back to him before.”
Julian said nothing.
“Three times,” she continued. “The first time, he apologized. The second time, he said I had frightened him. The third time, I stopped requiring an explanation.”
“You don’t have to justify—”
“I’m not.”
He closed his mouth.
Clara looked at the wedding ring on the tray. “Beatrice told me she could get me out without destroying the trust. She found lawyers. She rented an apartment under another name. She also kept asking me to wait. After the quarterly report. After the donor dinner. After the refinancing. There was always a cleaner week coming.”
“Why didn’t you call me?”
“Because you don’t help. You take over.”
The answer arrived without anger. That made it worse.
Julian stared at the floor.
“You would have gone to Elliot’s office,” Clara said. “You would have stood over him in that charcoal sweater and made your gray-eyed threat face. He would have called the police. Then he would have released the videos from treatment and said the Ashfords were using money to destroy him.”
“I could have handled it.”
“That sentence is why I didn’t call.”
He pressed his thumb against the signet ring.
Clara noticed. “Dad used to do that.”
Julian stopped.
“When he was deciding whether to lie,” she said.
“I’m not lying.”
“No. You’re deciding whether to admit I’m right.”
He removed his hand from the ring. “You’re right.”
Clara looked surprised enough to irritate him.
He added, “Don’t enjoy it.”
“I’m in a hospital bed. Allow me small pleasures.”
They sat quietly for a moment. A food cart rattled past in the corridor. Someone in the next room complained that the soup had no salt.
Julian said, “Beatrice lied to Elliot at the gate. He asked whether she had your phone. She said no.”
Clara looked toward the window.
“Did you give it to her?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because I trusted her.”
“Do you still?”
Clara took a long breath. “I trust that she loved me enough to lie to Elliot and feared scandal enough to lock me in a room. Those things live in the same person.”
“What do you want to happen to her?”
“I don’t know.”
“What do you want to happen to Elliot?”
“I want him unable to do this to me again.”
“That can mean several things.”
“I know.”
May you like
Julian waited, resisting the urge to supply options.
Clara picked up her wedding ring. She rolled it between her fingers, studying the small scratches in the metal. “The phone has photographs, messages, the consulting invoices, and a recording.”
