Chương 10
“There is no all of us.”
Margaret absorbed that without flinching.
“Robert believed money gave him the right to test people. He would offer help, then attach a condition designed to expose weakness. He did it to Daniel. He did it to me. He did it to you.”
“My father left me the house.”
“He left you a battlefield and called it protection.”
“Where is the red book?”
Margaret looked down at her gloves.
“I gave it to Peter.”
Sylvia’s head turned.
“When?” June asked.
“The morning after Robert died.”
“Why?”
“He said it might contain privileged notes related to the loan.”
“Did you make a copy?”
“No.”
“Did you read it?”
“Some pages.”
“What account number was inside?”
“I don’t remember.”
Lauren stood.
Margaret looked up.
“You remember every place card from your wedding,” Lauren said. “You remember which senator’s wife wore white to your husband’s funeral. You remember the exact sentence my father used when he refused to invest in Daniel’s first hotel. Don’t tell me you forgot an account number you were frightened enough to hand to a lawyer.”
“I was not frightened.”
“You were terrified in the doorway.”
Margaret’s lips parted.
Then she said, very softly, “Because I knew what Robert had written about me.”
The room went still.
“What did he write?” Lauren asked.
“That I planned the transfer.”
“Did you?”
“Yes.”
Sylvia lifted a hand. “Margaret.”
“No. She already knows enough to destroy us and not enough to understand why.”
“Understanding is not your legal problem,” June said.
Margaret ignored her.
“Daniel came to me in October. The Newark lender was preparing to declare a default. If that happened, every guaranty would follow. The company would collapse. Robert had promised to place the mansion into a marital trust so Daniel could use it as temporary security.”
“He promised to consider it,” Lauren said.
“That is how Robert promised things.”
“He wanted Daniel to tell me the truth.”
“Daniel believed you would leave.”
“I might have.”
“Yes.”
Margaret gave a small, tired nod.
“And that was the one consequence he could not bear.”
“Losing the company was fine?”
“He believed he could rebuild a company.”
“But not a wife.”
“You were the only person whose opinion of him was not based on success.”
Lauren thought of the photograph Daniel had sent. The employees arranged in rows, looking serious because someone had told them the future depended on the picture.
“Who forged the deed?” she asked.
Margaret’s expression closed.
“I did not see anyone forge Robert’s signature.”
“Who prepared the false transfer?”
“Peter prepared drafts.”
“Who told him to?”
“I asked him to prepare documents reflecting Robert’s promise.”
“After my father refused?”
“He had not refused.”
“He required disclosure.”
“He was using your marriage as leverage.”
“He was protecting me.”
“He was controlling you.”
Both statements could be true. Lauren hated Margaret for making room for that.
“Did Daniel know the signature was false?” she asked.
“He knew Robert had not signed the final draft.”
“That means yes.”
“He believed Peter had authority to complete the transfer under an earlier power.”
“There was no power.”
“Peter said there was.”
“Did you believe him?”
Margaret looked at her gloves again.
“I believed what I needed to believe.”
June’s pen stopped moving.
The sentence was not a confession, but it was closer than anything they had expected.
Sylvia requested a break.
Margaret refused.
“Where is the red book?” Lauren asked.
“Peter took it.”
“Does he still have it?”
“I don’t know.”
“Why did you warn Daniel not to let me open the envelope?”
“Because Robert documented everything when he was angry, and he was angry with me.”
“Did you think he accused you of killing him?”
Margaret’s eyes lifted sharply.
There was the fear from the doorway again.
“No.”
“Daniel came to Mara’s apartment and told me he didn’t know my father was going to die.”
“That was guilt speaking, not knowledge.”
“Guilt about what?”
Margaret’s breathing changed.
Sylvia said, “We are ending this meeting.”
Lauren did not look away.
“What happened the night my father died?”
“You found him.”
“I found him at eleven forty.”
Margaret stood.
“Ask Daniel where he was at nine.”
Then she collected her handbag and left.
Daniel had told Lauren he was in Philadelphia that night.
He had sent her a photograph from a hotel bar at eight thirty-four, a glass of bourbon beside his laptop and the city lights behind him. She remembered because Robert complained that Daniel always photographed drinks as if they were accomplishments.
June obtained the mansion’s gate logs through the temporary order.
Daniel’s car entered at 8:57 p.m.
It left at 10:18.
Lauren called him from June’s conference room.
“Where were you the night my father died?”
“At the Philadelphia office.”
“Your car entered the mansion at eight fifty-seven.”
Silence.
“Daniel.”
“I came back.”
“Why?”
“Robert called me.”
“What did he want?”
“To talk.”
“About the deed?”
“Yes.”
“Did you argue?”
“Yes.”
“Did you touch him?”
“No.”
“Was he alive when you left?”
“Yes.”
“Did he seem ill?”
“He was angry.”
“That isn’t an answer.”
“He was flushed. He complained of a headache.”
“And you left?”
“He told me to get out.”
“Did you call anyone?”
“No.”
“He had a stroke.”
“I didn’t know.”
“He told you he had a headache.”
“He had headaches.”
“Did you tell the paramedics you had seen him?”
“I wasn’t there when they came.”
“You told me you were in Philadelphia.”
“I panicked.”
“For three months?”
“I thought you would blame me.”
“I do blame you.”
“I did not kill him.”
“You left him sick and lied.”
“I did not know he was having a stroke.”
“Why did Margaret ask where you were?”
“Because she wants to move suspicion from herself.”
“Was she there too?”
“No.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
“Did you see the red book?”
Daniel breathed into the phone.
“Yes.”
“Did you give it to Peter?”
“No.”
“Your mother says she did.”
“She is lying.”
May you like
“Why?”
“Because she kept it.”
