Part 8
“Can she delete it?”
“Not permanently, according to our provider.”
“According to?”
“I prefer not to worship technology until it works.”
Claire looked at the sailboat photographs. In each one, Bernard stood beside a different boat wearing the same orange life jacket.
“Evan said he left something in the window seat.”
Bernard stopped writing.
“What?”
“I don’t know.”
“Have you retrieved it?”
“No.”
“Do not.”
“Vivian may.”
“The house is not foundation property.”
“The library collection is.”
“The storage bench is part of the estate.”
“So we need a lawyer to decide who owns whatever is under a cushion?”
“We need you not to enter a room from which you have been specifically barred.”
“I wasn’t barred from the main house.”
“You were told to remain off foundation property. The library’s status is sufficiently complicated that I would rather not test it.”
Claire stood.
Bernard looked up at her.
“Do you trust Vivian?” she asked.
He folded the cloth and placed it beside his glasses case.
“Trust is not the relevant standard.”
“It is when you let someone approve payments.”
“The board failed to separate several responsibilities. That will be corrected regardless of what the invoices show.”
“That sounds like yes with paperwork around it.”
“It sounds like a man who has no intention of answering your question.”
Claire reached for the door.
“Ms. Mercer.”
She turned.
“If your aunt is attempting to place responsibility on you, the worst thing you can do is behave as though ordinary rules no longer apply. People under accusation often become so desperate to prove innocence that they create new facts against themselves.”
“So I wait.”
“You document. You respond. You obtain counsel if necessary. Waiting is rarely passive when done correctly.”
Outside the office, Claire sat in her car without starting it.
She had $4,300 in savings, no current employment, and a lease that consisted of three paragraphs Vivian had drafted herself. Hiring an attorney belonged to the category of sensible actions available mainly to people who already felt safe.
She called Daniel.
He answered from Boston.
“I’m at the hospital,” he said. “Can I call later?”
“Vivian suspended me and says I altered restoration files.”
A door closed on his end.
“What?”
Claire explained.
Daniel was quiet.
“I signed invoices,” he said.
“Bernard told me.”
“I reviewed summary sheets. Vivian said the committee had approved the underlying expenses.”
“Was Evan’s company overpaid?”
“I don’t know.”
“He left something in the window seat.”
Daniel exhaled slowly.
“I’m driving back.”
“Your father—”
“My sister is with him.”
“You don’t have to.”
“Yes,” he said. “I do.”
He ended the call before Claire could argue.
At noon, Evan sent a location pin for a roadside diner fifteen miles north.
Under it, he wrote: I can’t keep running.
Claire deleted the draft in which she told him exactly what she thought of that sentence.
She drove to the diner.
The decision violated Bernard’s advice, her mother’s request, and probably several instincts she would later wish she had respected. She went anyway because unemployment had given the day an empty shape, and fear moved easily into open space.
Evan sat in a rear booth beneath a framed photograph of the Catskill Mountains. He had changed clothes but not improved. His dark blond hair was damp, his stubble uneven. A mug of coffee sat untouched in front of him.
Claire remained standing.
“Show me your phone.”
He blinked. “What?”
“The messages you sent me. Show me they came from your phone and not a second number Vivian can claim I created.”
He handed it over.
Claire verified the thread, photographed the screen beside the phone’s settings page, then returned it.
Evan stared at her. “You’ve changed.”
“We haven’t spoken enough for you to know that.”
“You were sixteen the last time we had a real conversation.”
“You told me college would be the best years of my life.”
“I was trying to be encouraging.”
“It was an irresponsible promise.”
Despite everything, the corner of his mouth moved.
Claire did not sit.
“What did you leave in the window seat?”
“A flash drive.”
“What’s on it?”
“Invoices, emails, photographs of receipts.”
“Why were they in the compartment?”
“I was supposed to give them to Vivian.”
“Why?”
“Because she wanted them destroyed.”
The waitress approached with a menu. Claire ordered coffee she did not want and waited until the woman moved away.
“Start at the beginning,” Claire said.
Evan rubbed both hands over his face.
“There isn’t one beginning.”
“Choose the first lie.”
He looked toward the window.
“Last March, my company was in trouble. Two commercial clients delayed payment. I had payroll, equipment leases, insurance. Daniel knew some of it, but not how bad.”
“So Vivian gave you work.”
“She helped my bid.”
“Fairly?”
“No.”
The answer came quickly.
“She gave me the internal estimate,” he continued. “I underbid the first phase, then added change orders once we opened the walls. Some were legitimate. This house is a nightmare. Wiring inside gas pipes, water damage behind plaster, beams cut through for plumbing. But some charges were padded.”
“How much?”
“About eighty thousand over eighteen months.”
Claire sat down.
Evan stared at his coffee.
“Not all of it went to me. Some covered expenses Vivian didn’t want on foundation records.”
“What expenses?”
“Hotels. Trips. Jewelry once.”
Claire felt disgust before the full meaning settled.
“You billed the foundation for gifts to Vivian.”
“They were buried inside materials.”
“And Daniel signed.”
“He signed summary approvals. He didn’t see the itemization.”
“You were his friend.”
“I know.”
“No. You know the sentence. That isn’t the same thing.”
The waitress delivered Claire’s coffee. Neither spoke until she left.
“When did the affair begin?” Claire asked.
Evan’s face tightened.
“June.”
“Before or after the false invoices?”
“After.”
“Did she sleep with you because you were already compromised?”
“No.”
“Did you sleep with her because she controlled the contract?”
“No.”
May you like
“You both happened to fall in love while stealing from a historical foundation?”
“We didn’t call it love.”
