Chapter 4: Already Have What We Need
Ethan showed me the screen without a word.
I read it once.
Set the phone back on the table.
"She's watching this room," I said.
He looked up at the ceiling.
There was a small smoke detector mounted above the door frame.
Standard.
Unremarkable.
Except that the indicator light was not blinking the way a normal detector blinks.
It was steady.
Ethan crossed the room in four steps and reached up.
He pressed his thumbnail into the edge of the casing.
It came away from the mount with almost no resistance.
Inside, behind the sensor panel, was a small device no larger than a thumb.
A flat black rectangle with a single lens no bigger than a shirt button.
He held it up between us.
I kept my voice level.
"Put it back."
"Mom—"
"Put it back exactly as it was.
If she knows we found it, she'll move faster."
His hand was shaking.
But he pressed the casing back into place and stepped away from the door.
"How long has that been there?" he asked.
"I don't know.
But I'd guess it was placed before tonight.
Before I arrived."
"She knew you were coming."
"She suspected someone was watching her.
She didn't know it was me.
Not until I walked through that gate."
Ethan sat back down.
He pressed both hands flat on his knees.
I could see him working through it — the timeline, the dinners, the conversations, the things he had said in this house that he had believed were private.
"The Dallas investors," he said slowly.
"I told Vanessa about the meeting three weeks ago.
I told her the figures."
"I know."
"If the Meridian Group already has those numbers—"
"They do."
He looked at me.
"How do you know?"
"Because Warren Pryce filed a competing bid with the Dallas group's parent company on Tuesday.
I received a copy from my attorney yesterday morning.
That is why I came today instead of waiting."
Ethan stood up again.
Walked to the window again.
This time he didn't press his hands against the glass.
He just stood there, looking out at his own party — the white roses, the crystal, the guests who were laughing and drinking and had no idea.
"She was going to let me walk into that acquisition," he said.
"She was going to let me spend everything.
And then—"
"And then the Meridian Group would have already secured the deal.
You would have been left with nothing to acquire and a significant financial exposure."
"And she would have been my wife by then."
The word landed in the room like something dropped from a height.
I didn't say anything.
I let him hold it.
After a moment, he turned around.
"What do we do?"
"First — you go back to that party.
You speak to the Dallas investors.
You tell them nothing has changed.
You are warm, you are confident, and you give them no reason to doubt you."
"And Vanessa?"
"You smile at her.
You take her hand if she offers it.
You give her nothing."
"For how long?"
"One more hour.
Then you tell the guests you need to see to your mother.
You come back here.
And then we call Richard."
Ethan frowned.
"Richard sent me that message.
He told me not to open the pouch in front of her.
But he also lied to me six months ago.
He told me he'd never met her."
"He lied to protect himself.
But he sent you that message tonight because he's frightened.
A frightened man who knows the truth is more useful than a loyal man who knows nothing."
Ethan was quiet for a moment.
"You planned all of this," he said.
Not as an accusation.
More like something settling into place.
"I planned to find out who she was.
What I found was larger than I expected."
He looked at me for a long moment.
The suit jacket was still around my shoulders.
My hair was still damp.
The thrift-store shoes were leaving faint watermarks on the hardwood floor.
"You came here like that on purpose," he said.
"Yes."
"You let her do that to you."
"I needed to see what she would do when she believed she had all the power and no one was watching." I held his gaze.
"Now I know."
He crossed the room and crouched in front of me the same way he had outside — but this time there was no horror in his eyes.
There was something quieter than that.
Something that had been there since he was seven years old and had figured out that his mother was always three steps ahead.
"Okay," he said.
"One hour."
He stood, straightened his jacket, and walked to the door.
He paused with his hand on the knob.
"Mom.
The recordings on the USB drive.
Are they enough?"
"For what?"
"To end this.
Legally.
Completely."
I picked up the pouch and held it in my lap.
"They're enough to start," I said.
"But there's one recording on that drive that we haven't discussed yet.
One that doesn't involve Vanessa."
He turned around slowly.
"It involves Patricia," I said.
"And a conversation she had with your attorney.
May you like
Three days before you signed your current company bylaws."
The door handle slipped from his grip.
