Part 3
Thomas’s mouth tightened in what might have been regret. There were three women at Briarwood who had been addressed that way at different points in his career. Beatrice had never relinquished it. Elena had never insisted on it.
“Beatrice,” he said.
He draped the shawl over the back of the sofa rather than placing it around Elena’s shoulders. She was grateful for the choice.
“What is happening in the conservatory?” she asked.
“Mr. Vale is being informed of certain business decisions.”
“Is he still there?”
“Yes.”
“Is he leaving?”
Thomas looked at Dr. Kern, then back at her. “That has not been settled.”
Elena stood.
Dr. Kern rose too. “I recommend you remain here.”
“I have remained in rooms for seven years because someone recommended it.”
The bitterness in her voice surprised all three of them.
Thomas looked down.
Elena touched the adhesive strip on her cheek. “I want my phone.”
“I’ll have it brought.”
“No. It’s in my bag by my chair.”
“I’ll retrieve it.”
“I said I want my phone, not that I want you to retrieve it.”
Thomas accepted the correction. “Of course.”
She walked toward the door.
Dr. Kern moved aside.
The conservatory was quieter when she returned. Two members of the catering staff were collecting plates from the far end of the table. Nicole knelt beside the marble with a dustpan, gathering fragments of the shattered flute.
“Stop,” Elena said.
The young woman froze.
Elena’s voice had come out too sharply. She moderated it. “Please don’t touch the glass with your hands.”
“I’m using a brush.”
“I know. I just—leave it for now.”
Nicole stood. Her eyes moved to the cut on Elena’s cheek and immediately away. “Yes, ma’am.”
Julian was near the windows, speaking into his phone. One security officer stood several feet behind him. Marianne sat at the table organizing documents. Beatrice had not moved from her chair.
When Julian saw Elena, he ended the call.
“David says none of this is enforceable.”
Marianne did not look up. “That is not what David told me.”
“He says the trust can’t restrict my personal movement.”
“No one is restricting your movement.”
“Those people won’t let me leave the room.”
“You have not attempted to leave the room.”
Julian pointed toward the security officer. “Move.”
The officer stepped aside.
Julian stayed where he was.
Elena crossed to her chair and retrieved the small satin bag that held her phone. Beside it lay one of her diamond earrings. She touched her left ear and found it bare.
She had not felt the earring fall.
She slipped it into the bag.
Julian watched the ordinary movement with a kind of desperation. “Can we speak privately?”
“No.”
“I’m asking you one question.”
“And I answered.”
His voice lowered. “You don’t know what this looks like.”
Elena glanced at the broken glass. “I do.”
“To everyone else.”
“Then perhaps you should ask everyone else.”
He took a breath and looked toward the staff.
Nicole had resumed removing plates, but slowly now, as though any sound might draw attention. The other server, an older man named Paul, kept his eyes fixed on the tray in his hands.
Julian’s discomfort hardened into anger. “Get them out.”
Thomas remained near the doorway. “They are finishing their work.”
“I said get them out.”
“No,” Beatrice said.
It was the first word she had spoken since Elena returned.
Julian turned. “You want an audience?”
“I want witnesses treated like human beings.”
“Witnesses to what? A glass broke.”
Beatrice’s face remained still, but her fingers closed around the gold ring on her right hand. Elena had seen her do that only twice: at her husband’s funeral and during a shareholders’ meeting when a longtime partner tried to conceal a loss.
“A glass did not break,” Beatrice said. “You threw it.”
“I lost my temper.”
“That is not a defense.”
“I know what it is.”
“Do you?”
He gave a small, disbelieving shake of his head. “This performance is beneath you.”
Beatrice looked toward Elena. “Is it?”
Julian followed her gaze.
Elena unlocked her phone. There were eleven missed calls, all from numbers she recognized: her sister, the trustee Marianne Cho, the director of communications at Vale Consolidated, and an attorney named Rachel Singh.
Rachel had told her not to attend the dinner.
Elena had attended because Beatrice asked her to, and because Julian would have interpreted her absence as an admission that she was aligned against him. She had spent the afternoon convincing herself that being present might keep him calm.
It had not occurred to her that calmness should not depend on her location.
Marianne stood and approached. “Mrs. Vale, Rachel asked that you call her as soon as you were able.”
Julian laughed without humor. “Of course she did.”
Elena looked at him. “You know Rachel?”
“She’s been digging through our finances for two months.”
“She is my attorney.”
“You didn’t need your own attorney until my mother decided you did.”
“No. I needed one before I admitted it.”
Julian’s expression flickered. It was not guilt. It was calculation interrupted by hurt.
He had always taken Elena’s independence personally, as though any decision not routed through him constituted disloyalty.
“You hired her before tonight?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“When?”
“July.”
He stepped closer. “You’ve been planning to leave me since July?”
The security officer shifted his weight.
Elena did not move. “I met her in July.”
“That isn’t an answer.”
“It is the answer I’m giving.”
His face flushed beneath his light olive skin. “Were you going to tell me?”
“I tried.”
“When?”
“August seventeenth. In the library at our apartment.”
“You told me you were unhappy.”
“I told you I wanted a separation.”
“You said you needed space.”
“I used both phrases because you kept arguing with the first one.”
The staff had stopped pretending not to listen.
Julian looked around the room, aware of them again. “You’re rewriting a private conversation in front of employees.”
“I’m repeating it.”
May you like
“You were emotional.”
“I was sitting at a desk.”
