Chapter 6: What He Said When There Was No One Left to Perform For
The hospital kept me overnight.
Four stitches, a mild concussion, elevated bl00d pressure.
The attending physician used the word "significant" when describing the force required to cause the injury.
She said it twice, and I understood she was saying it for the record.
A police officer came at seven in the morning and took a formal statement.
I told him everything from the beginning — the dinner, the plan they had laid out, the moment Adrian reached for the plate, the way no one in that room moved toward me afterward.
I told him about the refinancing papers I had signed fourteen months ago.
I told him about Maya and the key and the basement.
He wrote it all down.
He was thorough and unhurried and when he left he gave me a case number and told me to contact Detective Hale directly if I remembered anything else.
My attorney arrived at nine.
Her name was Renata.
I had called her from the ambulance the night before.
She was sixty-one years old, had been practicing family and property law for thirty years, and when I told her what had happened she said, "I'll be there at nine," and hung up.
She came in, set her bag on the chair beside my bed, looked at the bandage on my temple, and said, "Tell me everything in order."
I did.
When I finished, she was quiet for a moment.
"The deed transfer," she said.
"You signed a refinancing document.
You did not sign a deed transfer."
"Correct."
"And there is a second document with your signature that you did not sign at all."
"According to Maya, yes.
Hale has the photographs."
Renata made a note.
"The holding company.
Do you know the name?"
"No."
"We'll find it." She made another note.
"Adrian is currently in custody.
He was formally arrested at one-fifteen this morning.
Domestic @ssault, and they're looking at fraud charges pending review of the basement documents."
I had not known that.
Nobody had called me.
"Charles?" I asked.
"Not arrested.
Yet.
But Hale told me this morning that the documents in the basement implicate him directly in the deed fraud.
He's been advised not to leave the state."
"Eleanor?"
Renata looked at me over her reading glasses.
"Eleanor is at home.
But the holding company — the one the condo was transferred into — she is listed as the sole director."
I let that settle.
"So she knew," I said.
"She didn't just know," Renata said.
"She was the destination."
That afternoon, Adrian called from the county jail.
I almost didn't accept.
But Renata was still with me, and she nodded once, and I put it on speaker.
"Claire." His voice was flat.
The performance was gone — the easy confidence, the careful charm he used in rooms full of people.
What was left sounded smaller.
"I'm here," I said.
"I need you to talk to Renata about the bail situation.
If you post—"
"No."
A pause.
"Claire—"
"No, Adrian."
Another pause.
Longer.
"I didn't think it would go this far," he said.
I looked at Renata.
She was writing something and did not look up.
"Which part?" I asked.
"Any of it.
I thought — my mother needed somewhere to live, and you were always so—" He stopped.
"So what?"
"Resistant," he said.
"To helping the family."
"I was resistant to giving away my home and paying your mother's expenses while she owns three properties," I said.
"Yes.
I was resistant to that."
"You made everything so difficult."
"I said no.
That's not difficult.
That's a boundary."
Silence.
"The documents," he said finally.
"In the basement.
That wasn't my idea."
"Whose was it?"
He didn't answer.
"Adrian.
Whose idea was the forgery?"
"I need you to talk to Renata about bail."
"I already answered that question," I said.
"Goodbye, Adrian."
I ended the call.
Renata set down her pen.
"He'll try again.
Through a mutual contact, probably.
Someone who knew you both before the marriage."
"Let them try," I said.
She looked at me for a moment.
"You're doing well."
"I'm furious," I said.
May you like
"I know," she said.
"That's doing well."
