Chapter 5: What She Was Moving
By 6:00 a.m., Richard had made four calls.
The first was to his attorney, James Whitfield, to confirm the 8:00 a.m.
meeting and add one item to the agenda: asset protection.
The second was to his head of household security, to pull all camera footage from the past six months and store it on an external drive that would leave the house with James.
The third was to his personal accountant.
The fourth was to the bank.
That last call took eleven minutes.
When it ended, Richard sat very still for a moment, then went downstairs to make Sophie breakfast.
She came down at 7:15, still in her pajamas, her hair tangled from sleep.
She stopped at the bottom of the stairs when she saw him at the stove.
"You're still here."
"I'm still here."
She crossed the kitchen and climbed onto the stool at the island, watching him.
"Are you making eggs?"
"Eggs and toast.
With the little triangle corners you like."
Her face did something complicated — relief trying to look like it wasn't relief.
"Vivienne doesn't cut them like that."
"I know."
He set the plate in front of her.
She ate without being asked.
Quickly, the way children eat when they're not sure how long the food will last.
He watched her and kept his expression steady.
At 7:52, Vivienne appeared in the kitchen doorway in a silk robe, her phone in her hand.
She looked at Sophie, then at Richard, then at the plate.
"You made breakfast."
"I did."
She moved to the coffee machine.
Her movements were unhurried, deliberate — the performance of someone who had decided overnight that the best strategy was normalcy.
"Sophie," she said pleasantly, "did you sleep well?"
Sophie looked at her plate.
"Yes."
"Good." Vivienne poured her coffee.
"Richard, I thought about what you said last night.
I think we should talk — properly, calmly — before you do anything rash.
I may have been too strict with her schedule, and I'm willing to discuss that."
"James will be here in six minutes."
The coffee cup stopped halfway to her lips.
"You actually called him."
"I told you I would."
She set the cup down.
Looked at Sophie.
"Sweetheart, go watch something in the playroom, okay?"
Sophie looked at Richard.
He nodded.
"Go ahead, bug.
I'll come get you in a bit."
Sophie slid off the stool and left.
They both waited until her footsteps reached the top of the stairs.
Vivienne turned to face him.
The pleasantness was gone.
"This is a mistake," she said.
"Whatever you think you saw on that footage—"
"I saw everything."
"Children need discipline.
She was not in danger.
She was being managed."
"She ate dog food, Vivienne."
"Because she was being stubborn—"
"She's six."
The doorbell rang.
Vivienne's eyes moved toward the hallway.
Something shifted in her face — a decision being made.
"I want my own attorney present before any conversation happens."
"That's your right."
She pulled her robe tighter and walked toward the stairs.
"I'll be down in twenty minutes."
"Take your time," Richard said.
He went to let James in.
James Whitfield was sixty-one, unhurried, and carried a leather briefcase that had been through more courtrooms than most judges.
He shook Richard's hand, stepped inside, and looked around the entrance hall with the quiet attention of someone cataloguing details.
"The drive?" he said.
Richard handed it to him.
"Six months of footage.
The kitchen and the main hallway."
James put it in his briefcase without looking at it.
"And the accounts?"
"The joint accounts are frozen as of this morning.
Her personal card still works — I'm not cutting her off, I'm just making sure nothing moves before we file."
James nodded slowly.
"She know yet?"
"She knows something.
Not the accounts."
"She'll find out when she tries to use it." He glanced toward the stairs.
"She still upstairs?"
"Getting dressed."
"Then we have a few minutes." James set his briefcase on the hall table and opened it.
"There's something you should know before she comes down."
Richard looked at him.
"What?"
"I ran the background check you asked for last month.
The one you said you weren't sure you wanted."
Richard had forgotten he'd asked for it.
A moment of doubt, three weeks ago, that he'd pushed aside.
"And?"
James took out a single folder and held it out.
Richard opened it.
The first page was a financial summary.
Transfers — small ones, regular, going back fourteen months — from a household account into an account he didn't recognize.
The second page was a name.
A man's name.
And a lease agreement.
An apartment across the city, signed eight months ago.
In Vivienne's name.
May you like
Richard closed the folder.
Upstairs, a door opened.
