Chapter 6 - My Mother’s Name
My mother’s name was Eleanor.
Anton had called her Ellie.
She had hated it.
“Some people use a nickname before they’ve earned the right,” she once told me.
I had defended him then.
“He’s trying to be warm.”
“No,” she said gently. “He’s trying to skip a few steps.”
Now I sat in Mendoza’s office while he requested preservation of company records.
Anton’s locked drawer belonged to the company.
It could be examined through the proper process.
That did not make waiting easy.
“What could he have?” I asked.
“Let’s find out before we decide.”
“I paid his bills while my mother was dying.”
Mendoza said nothing.
“He told me to stop working so hard. Said he’d take care of the business.”
I pressed my palms against my knees.
“I thought he was being kind.”
“People can exploit a kindness without making it foolish to have needed one.”
I looked away before he could see my face change.
That afternoon, I returned to the house with my attorney and a civil standby arranged for the collection of belongings.
Anton opened the door.
Valerie stood behind him wearing my silk robe.
My mother had given it to me on my wedding morning.
For one second, anger wiped every sensible thought from my head.
Then Mendoza said quietly, “Clara.”
I breathed.
“I’m here for my personal belongings.”
Anton stepped aside.
“Finally ready to talk?”
“Through counsel.”
He scoffed.
Inside, the photograph of my mother had disappeared from the mantel.
“Where is it?”
Valerie crossed her arms.
“We made some changes.”
“Where?”
“In the garage, probably.”
I found it facedown in a donation box beneath old magazines.
The glass was cracked.
I lifted it carefully.
My mother was laughing in the picture, one hand holding her hat against the wind.
I remembered taking it.
I remembered thinking there would be more days like that.
Behind me, Anton said, “You’re making this harder than it needs to be.”
I turned.
He held a folder.
“Sign the settlement. I’ll withdraw the complaint to your bank.”
Mendoza moved between us.
“That offer needs to come through your attorney.”
Anton ignored him.
“You can keep your career, Clara. Isn’t that what you care about most?”
I placed the photograph inside my bag.
“No,” I said. “That’s just what you never managed to take.”
As we left, my phone buzzed.
The independent accountant had obtained the drawer’s contents.
May you like
There was a loan application inside.
The collateral listed was my house.
