Part 3
Julian paused.
Evelyn watched the lie rearrange itself.
“A delivery person,” he said.
“Which one?”
“I don’t know his name.”
“There is no delivery scheduled tonight. The caterer stocked the kitchen yesterday. Flowers arrived at noon.”
“You keep records of flowers now?”
“I keep records of who enters my home.”
“Your home.”
The phrase landed with more bitterness than the rest.
Evelyn looked at him.
“Our engagement announcement is in three weeks.”
“I know.”
“We were supposed to move into the main suite together after the dinner.”
“I know.”
“You have referred to this place as ours for months.”
“And yet you heard me say my home.”
“I heard you reveal how you think.”
Evelyn studied his face.
Perhaps the call had already reversed more than money. Julian was not only frightened that accounts had been frozen. He was frightened that his position in the apartment had never been as permanent as he believed.
“The watch,” she said. “Whose was it?”
He turned away.
“This interrogation is over.”
“No.”
“You cannot order me around because your name is on a building.”
“I can require answers about an injured worker in a property I own.”
“I told you he fell.”
“And I told you not to speak to him. Yet you keep constructing versions of his behavior.”
Julian walked toward the double-height windows.
The city beyond them looked close enough to touch, though the glass separated the room from wind, sirens, heat, and every ordinary consequence of height.
“You always do this,” he said.
“Do what?”
“Make a room feel like a courtroom.”
“Only when someone lies repeatedly.”
“You don’t know I’m lying.”
“I know the decanter was moved from the locked cabinet.”
“So?”
“I have the only key.”
Julian stopped.
Evelyn looked at the console beneath the chandelier.
Her small brass key ring normally rested in a black dish there when she was home. She had taken it to Zurich because the ring also held the key to her document case.
“The cabinet was opened without my key,” she said.
“Mr. Alden has another.”
“No, he does not.”
“Then perhaps it was never locked.”
“It was.”
“How can you know?”
“Because I locked it before I left.”
“You were gone four days.”
“And no one with permission accessed it.”
Julian turned.
“Are you accusing me of breaking into a liquor cabinet?”
“I am asking how you obtained the decanter.”
His gaze moved toward the bar.
A slim drawer beneath it had been left open less than an inch.
Evelyn crossed the foyer.
Inside were cocktail napkins, a corkscrew, two silver stoppers, and a small screwdriver from the household repair kit.
She looked at the screwdriver.
Then at the lock on the cabinet.
Two faint marks crossed the brass plate.
Julian’s face went still.
“It was stuck,” he said.
“You just suggested it was unlocked.”
“I remembered.”
“No. You saw the screwdriver.”
He walked toward her.
“I opened a cabinet in the apartment where I live.”
“You forced it.”
“To get wine for a dinner we are hosting.”
“The wine selected for tonight is already in the dining room.”
“I preferred this one.”
“It is not wine. It is the decanter.”
He sighed.
“Here comes the history lesson.”
Evelyn looked at the fragments on the floor.
Her grandfather had been difficult, impatient, and generous in ways that often required witnesses. She did not worship his objects. The decanter mattered only because Julian knew she had asked him not to use it and decided the request was evidence of a boundary he should test.
“What happened when Owen told you not to take it?” she asked.
“He did not tell me anything.”
“He saw you forcing the lock.”
Julian’s jaw tightened.
“He entered without knocking.”
“This is a foyer.”
“The service entrance.”
“Which opens into the same room.”
“He startled me.”
“So you ordered him to pour from the decanter.”
“He offered.”
“And ruined your evening.”
Julian looked toward the library again.
Evelyn followed the direction of his eyes.
“He threatened to report you.”
“No.”
“He said Mr. Alden would need to know the cabinet had been forced.”
Julian did not answer.
Evelyn felt a cold certainty settle in place.
“You took his phone.”
“I did not.”
“You searched him for it.”
“No.”
“You grabbed his vest.”
“He reached into his pocket.”
“For his phone.”
“For something.”
“You thought he had photographed the cabinet.”
Julian’s silence was complete now.
The library door opened.
Dr. Shaw entered the foyer carrying a small medical case. She was a compact woman in her fifties who had treated Evelyn’s family since before Evelyn went to college. Behind her, Mr. Alden closed the door again.
“Ms. Vale,” Dr. Shaw said, “I need to speak with you.”
Evelyn looked at Julian.
“You will stay here.”
He gave a disbelieving laugh.
“You cannot be serious.”
“If you leave, the review expands beyond the accounts already frozen.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means do not test which part of my instruction was unclear.”
She followed Dr. Shaw into the library.
Owen sat on the edge of a leather chair with the linen handkerchief pressed to his mouth. His vest had been removed and lay folded beside him. Without it, his white shirt revealed faint red marks near his collarbone.
Mr. Alden stood near the bookshelves.
Dr. Shaw closed the door.
“He does not need emergency care,” she said. “The cut is superficial. He has tenderness along the jaw and upper chest, but no obvious fracture or breathing difficulty. I recommend imaging if the pain worsens.”
Owen looked down.
Evelyn sat across from him rather than standing.
“Did Julian hit you?”
Owen held the handkerchief more tightly.
Mr. Alden looked toward the window.
Dr. Shaw began packing a sterile strip back into her case, creating the privacy of a person who had decided not to watch an answer being forced.
Owen swallowed.
“He didn’t punch me.”
“Did he strike you with an open hand?”
“No.”
May you like
“Did he shove you?”
Owen stared at the cloth.
