Chapter 3 - THE FIRST THING I TOOK BACK
I photographed every page.
Then I put the originals in my suitcase.
Adrien appeared at the kitchen door.
“What are you doing?”
“Leaving.”
His eyes landed on the open drawer.
“That’s private.”
“My name is on it.”
He came toward me.
Martha stayed beside the counter.
“You signed those documents,” he said.
“You told me they updated our estate records.”
“They do.”
“They sell my building.”
“They consolidate an asset.”
“Into Clare’s company?”
His eyes flicked toward Martha.
“Martha, give us a minute.”
She didn’t move.
“Mrs. Cole’s car is outside.”
Adrien’s face hardened.
“You’re making something ugly out of a practical decision.”
“Then explain the practical part.”
He lowered his voice.
“Mercer House needs work. You can’t manage it alone.”
“I’ve managed it for five years.”
“With advice from my office.”
“Advice isn’t ownership.”
He held out his hand.
“Give me the folder.”
“No.”
He stared at me as though I had spoken a language he didn’t recognize.
I rolled my suitcase past him.
Outside, rain had turned the sidewalk silver.
My friend June answered on the second ring.
“Willa?”
“Can I come over?”
She heard something in my voice.
“I’m unlocking the door.”
Twenty minutes later, I stood in her narrow apartment in Queens, holding a ruined anniversary cake and trying not to fall apart.
June took the suitcase.
Then the box.
Then my hand.
“What did he do?”
I showed her the video.
She watched without speaking.
Then I handed her the ultrasound.
Her face changed.
“Oh, honey.”
That was when I cried.
Not gracefully.
Not quietly.
June sat beside me on the kitchen floor until I could breathe.
At nine the next morning, she drove me to Naomi Price, the attorney who had handled my grandmother’s estate.
Naomi read the documents twice.
“Did you receive the complete agreement before signing?”
“No.”
“Did anyone explain that you were selling your interest?”
“No.”
“Do you recognize this signature on the transfer authorization?”
It looked like mine.
Close enough to frighten me.
“No.”
Naomi turned the page toward me.
“The buyer’s deposit arrived yesterday.”
“How much?”
“Four hundred thousand dollars.”
I waited.
She checked the attached banking instructions.
Then her mouth tightened.
“It was directed to an account ending in 4418.”
“That isn’t mine.”
“Are you sure?”
I opened my banking app.
My account ended in 9072.
Naomi picked up her phone.
“We need to stop the closing.”
“When is it?”
May you like
She looked at the date.
“Tomorrow morning.”
