Chapter 6 - The Woman Who Kept Receipts
Nora photographed the message.
“Good.”
I looked at her.
“How is any of this good?”
“He just confirmed possession of documents taken from your home.”
For the first time that morning, I almost smiled.
Then she opened the trust attachment.
Robert Vance had died eighteen months earlier.
I remembered the funeral.
Eleanor had held my hand in front of the guests and ignored me once they left.
The trust set aside money for Julian’s future children.
It also required an independent review when the first grandchild was born.
“That’s why they want control,” I said.
“Possibly,” Nora replied.
“Let’s prove it.”
I showed her the invoices.
She read without interrupting.
Then she called a financial investigator she had worked with before.
With my permission, she sent selected files.
Not everything.
Only enough to establish that this was more than a bitter divorce.
While she worked, I fed Owen.
His tiny jaw moved steadily.
The ordinary rhythm grounded me.
Milk.
Breath.
Warm skin.
Things Eleanor could not turn into clauses.
My phone rang.
A woman named Lydia.
She had worked in the Vance house for eleven years.
“I heard you had the baby.”
“How?”
“Mrs. Vance has been shouting all morning.”
I closed my eyes.
“Lydia, don’t get involved.”
“I already am.”
She lowered her voice.
“There’s something you should know.”
In the background, I heard dishes clinking.
“A week before Julian gave you those divorce papers, a woman came to the house.”
“What woman?”
“I don’t know her name.”
“Was she an attorney?”
“She carried a file.”
Lydia hesitated.
“Mrs. Vance paid her in cash.”
I watched Nora look up.
“Did you see anything else?”
“A form on the kitchen printer.”
“What kind?”
“It said you declined independent advice.”
I had never declined anything.
“I kept the misprinted copy.”
“Why?”
“Because your signature looked wrong.”
My eyes filled.
All those months, I had believed nobody noticed.
Lydia had noticed.
She had simply been frightened too.
“Can you send a picture?”
“I’ll bring it.”
“No,” Nora said quietly.
“Ask her to meet me somewhere public.”
I repeated the instruction.
Lydia agreed.
Then her voice dropped to a whisper.
“Oh.”
“What?”
“The form wasn’t dated before the divorce.”
I sat straighter.
May you like
“It was dated yesterday.”
A second later, she added, “Vivian, it says you agreed to give them the baby.”
