Chapter 4: The Name on the Transfer
The dispatcher asked him to stay on the line.
Marcus set the phone on the table with the call still running and looked at his sister.
"Sit down, Susan."
"I'd rather stand."
"I'm not asking."
Something in his voice moved her.
She pulled out the nearest chair and sat, and Vincent sat beside her without being told, and for a moment the four of them — five, counting Arthur still standing near the elevator — occupied the same room in a silence that had the quality of held breath.
Arthur lowered himself into the armchair near the window.
Eli went with him and sat on the arm of it, which was not a thing you were supposed to do with the furniture at Calder House, and Arthur put one hand briefly on the boy's knee.
"How did you know to knock?" Arthur asked.
Eli looked at him.
"I didn't.
I was listening and you knocked."
The old man's face did something complicated.
"I heard the car on the gravel.
I thought it might be Marcus." He paused.
"I'd been trying every hour.
Two quick, one slow.
It was something your grandmother and I used to do.
When I was working late in the study and she wanted me to come to bed."
Eli nodded slowly, as though this made complete sense.
"She taught you that?" Marcus asked.
"No," Arthur said.
"He just knew it.
Same as she did."
Nobody said anything for a moment.
Then Vincent shifted in his chair and said, "We should talk about what this looks like before the police arrive."
Marcus turned to look at him.
"I mean legally," Vincent said.
"There are ways to frame this that are better for everyone.
The transfer doesn't have to—"
"Vincent." Marcus's voice was quiet.
"Stop talking."
"I'm trying to help."
"You're trying to survive.
Those are different things."
Vincent looked at Susan.
Susan was looking at the table.
"The notary," Marcus said.
"Who was it?"
Susan didn't answer.
"I'll find out when they pull the document.
I'm asking you now."
Still nothing.
"His name is Gerald Foss," Arthur said from the armchair.
"He's been the family notary for twelve years.
He didn't know what he was signing off on.
Susan told him I was traveling and had pre-signed."
"Gerald wouldn't have—" Susan started.
"He didn't know," Arthur said again, firmly.
"Leave Gerald out of it."
Susan's jaw tightened.
"You're protecting people who had nothing to do with this while your own daughter is sitting here."
"My own daughter put me in a lift shaft."
The words landed without drama.
Arthur said them the way you state a fact about the weather, and they were worse for it.
Susan's eyes went bright.
She blinked once, hard.
"I wasn't going to leave you there."
"I know."
"I just needed—"
"I know what you needed." He looked at her steadily.
"You needed me not to give a third of what we built to a boy you'd never met.
And I understand that.
I do.
But Susan.
You could have come to me.
You could have argued.
You could have threatened to contest it legally.
You could have done a hundred things."
"I tried talking to you.
In June.
You said it was decided."
"It was."
"Then there was nothing left to talk about."
"There was everything left to talk about." His voice stayed level.
"There is always something left.
Until there isn't."
A sound came from outside — tires on the gravel drive.
Then headlights across the window, red and blue this time, not white.
Vincent stood up.
"Sit down," Marcus said.
"I have a right to—"
"You have the right to an attorney.
You can ask for one when they get inside.
Until then, sit down and don't touch anything on that table."
Vincent sat.
The knock at the front door was three times.
Loud, official, the kind that does not wait long for an answer.
Eli looked at his grandfather.
"I'll get it."
Arthur caught his wrist gently.
"Let your father."
Marcus went to the door.
He opened it onto two sheriff's deputies and, behind them, a third figure in plain clothes — a woman, fifties, dark coat, a badge on her belt and a notepad already in her hand.
"Mr.
Carrow?"
"Yes."
"Detective Reyes, Ulster County.
We received a call." Her eyes went past him into the room, taking in the torn portrait on the floor, the broken frame, the open elevator doors, Arthur in the armchair.
She did not react to any of it visibly.
"Can you tell me what happened here tonight?"
Marcus stepped back to let her in.
"I can," he said.
"But my father should tell most of it.
He was here for all of it."
Detective Reyes looked at Arthur.
Arthur looked back at her.
"Sir," she said.
"Are you injured?"
"My wrists are sore," Arthur said.
"And I'd very much like a glass of water, if that's permitted."
Reyes looked at the nearest deputy.
He went to the kitchen without being asked.
She looked at Susan.
Susan was looking at the table.
"Ma'am," Reyes said.
"Is there anything you'd like to tell me before we begin?"
Susan's hands were flat on the table, very still.
"I want a lawyer," she said.
Reyes wrote something on her notepad.
"That's your right." She looked around the room once more — the folders, the document with the blue SIGNATURE tab, the broken elevator doors, the boy sitting on the arm of the old man's chair.
"We're going to need everyone to stay," she said.
"This is going to take a while."
Eli looked at his grandfather.
Arthur patted his knee once.
May you like
"It's all right," he said quietly.
"We have time now."
