Chương 3
The detective asked Vivian whether she took any prescription medication. Vivian’s face changed so slightly Marcus might have missed it if he had not spent twelve years learning the distances between her expressions.
“My medical information is private.”
“It may help identify the substance.”
“My attorney can discuss what is relevant.”
Marcus looked at her. “Do you have medication in a silver packet?”
She met his gaze. “Not everything belongs to you because we are married.”
“That isn’t what I asked.”
Her eyes moved away first.
The police did not arrest her that morning. They collected the tea, the packet, the spoon, the teapot, footage from the hallway, and the champagne dress after Vivian changed under the supervision of a female officer. When she returned wearing navy trousers and a cream blouse, she had removed her earrings.
Her attorney, Simon Vale, arrived before noon. He was narrow, silver-haired, and unfailingly courteous, which made every sentence sound prepared for a jury.
He advised Vivian not to answer further questions. He also advised Marcus, with the same mild tone, not to discuss the incident with his wife.
“I can speak to my own husband,” Vivian said.
“You can,” Vale replied. “I advise against it.”
Detective Cole asked Vivian to come voluntarily to the precinct. She agreed. Before leaving, she stopped near Marcus.
The distance between them was less than three feet. It felt formal.
“Do not let Everett turn this into what he wants,” she said.
Vale touched her elbow. “Vivian.”
Marcus waited for her to explain.
She did not.
After the doors closed, Nora began straightening a chair that was not out of place.
“Nora.”
She stopped.
Marcus had known her for two years. He knew she drank mint tea during her afternoon break, sent half her paycheck to her mother, and disliked the vacuum kept on the third floor because its cord twisted near the plug. He did not know whether she lied well.
“Why were you watching my wife?”
“I wasn’t.”
“You followed her back to the kitchen.”
“I forgot the lemon.”
“Then you took something from her pocket.”
Nora folded her hands. “Yes.”
“Have you searched her clothes before?”
“No, sir.”
“Have you taken anything from this house?”
Her face went still.
Malcolm shifted his weight near the door.
Marcus heard the cruelty in his own question and continued anyway. “I need the truth before the police find it without us.”
“I gave them the truth.”
“That wasn’t my question.”
“No, sir. I have never stolen from you.”
“Why should I believe you?”
Nora looked at him for several seconds. Her eyes shone, but she did not cry.
“You shouldn’t,” she said. “Not yet.”
The answer unsettled him more than a plea would have.
Lena Price, the general counsel for Hale Development, arrived at twelve thirty with two phones, a leather folder, and irritation sharpened by fear. She walked into Marcus’s study while talking to someone from the board and shut the door behind her with her foot.
“The meeting has been postponed until four,” she said when the call ended. “Eleanor wants you on video.”
“I’m not attending a board meeting.”
“You may have been the target of an attempted poisoning three hours before a nine-figure asset vote. You are absolutely attending.”
“Vivian has not been charged.”
“That fact will cease to matter the moment someone leaks the police activity outside your home.”
Marcus moved to the window. Beyond the glass, two police vehicles remained by the front gate. A delivery van had slowed on the street. The driver held up a phone.
“Who knows?” he asked.
“The board chair, Everett, me, security, your household staff, police, paramedics, Vivian’s lawyer, and whichever neighbors have functioning eyes.”
“Nora?”
“What about her?”
“She stays on paid leave until this is resolved.”
Lena placed her folder on the desk. “That may look retaliatory.”
“It is not retaliation.”
“You asked whether she stole from you ten minutes after she stopped you from drinking possible poison. It may not feel like gratitude either.”
Marcus turned. “Were you listening?”
“The door was open.”
“It was not.”
“Then Malcolm was concerned enough to tell me.”
Marcus looked toward the hall. “Everyone has become remarkably communicative.”
“That is what happens when a rich man nearly drinks something suspicious. People discover civic responsibility.”
He almost smiled. It did not reach his face.
Lena opened the folder. Inside were copies of documents Everett had delivered that morning: voting proxies, transaction summaries, and a revised risk memorandum for the sale of twenty-three apartment buildings to Northstar Residential Partners.
“The board can delay,” Marcus said.
“The buyers can walk. The lenders can reprice. Our stock can drop before lunch tomorrow if this becomes public.”
“My wife may have tried to drug me.”
“And the company still exists. These facts are not courteous enough to wait for each other.”
Marcus sank into the chair behind his desk. On the wall opposite him hung a photograph of his father breaking ground on the first Hale property, a twelve-unit brick building purchased with borrowed money and a guarantee from an uncle who never forgave him for needing it. Marcus had spent most of his adult life making the company large enough that no one could speak about the loan.
“Did Everett enter the kitchen?”
“Why?”
“He was here.”
Lena stared at him. “Are you asking whether your CFO poisoned your tea?”
“I’m asking where he went.”
“Security is reviewing the logs with the police.”
Marcus tapped one finger against the desk. “Vivian told me not to let him turn this into what he wants.”
“What does he want?”
“The sale closed.”
“So do you.”
The statement landed without accusation. That made it worse.
May you like
The Northstar transaction had consumed nine months. It would move aging properties off Hale’s balance sheet, reduce debt, and release enough capital to begin the company’s downtown redevelopment project. Marcus had built his public argument around efficiency. Older buildings needed owners willing to invest. Northstar had promised renovations.
Vivian had called the promise cosmetic language for displacement.
