Chapter 7: The Woman in the White Dress
I didn't call Chloe.
I showed up.
She was staying at a hotel four blocks from the house — I knew because Rachel's assistant had noted the address when the property notice was served.
I stood in the lobby and texted her from the house number she'd messaged me from the day before.
*I'm downstairs.
I'll wait ten minutes.*
She came down in eight.
She looked different without the white dress.
Smaller.
She was wearing a gray sweater and her hair was pulled back and she had the look of someone who hadn't slept since the day before yesterday — which, I supposed, was exactly what she was.
We sat in the far corner of the lobby, away from the front desk.
Neither of us spoke first.
Then she said, "I didn't know about the trust."
"I believe you," I said.
She blinked.
She had been braced for something else.
"He told me you'd been separated for over a year," she continued.
"He said the house was in a legal gray area because of a business arrangement with his mother.
He said the divorce was already decided — that you'd agreed on it privately and were just waiting for the right time to file." She pressed her hands together in her lap.
"I know how that sounds."
"It sounds like the things he says when he needs someone to believe him."
She looked down.
"Yes."
"The earrings," I said.
She reached up instinctively and touched her ear.
She wasn't wearing them now.
"He gave them to me two weeks ago.
He said they were his grandmother's."
"They were my mother's."
Her hands dropped to her lap.
"I left them on the dresser in the hotel room," she said quietly.
"You can have them back.
I'll go get them right now if you want."
"In a moment." I looked at her directly.
"I need to ask you something, and I need you to think carefully before you answer."
She met my eyes.
"Three years ago.
Luca's home office.
An evening in March — it was raining.
He asked me to sign a document.
He called it a tax form.
You were in the room."
She went very still.
"You handed me the pen," I said.
A long silence.
"I remember that night," she said.
"Did you know what the document was?"
Her jaw worked.
"He told me it was a routine filing.
A trust instrument adjustment.
He said you'd already agreed to it verbally and just needed to sign."
"Did you read it?"
"I glanced at it." She stopped.
"There was language I didn't understand.
I asked him about it afterward.
He said it was standard legal boilerplate." She paused again.
"I was his employee.
I didn't push."
"But you remember the night."
"Yes."
"And you remember handing me the pen."
"Yes."
I folded my hands on the table between us.
"Chloe.
There is a custody hearing on Friday.
Luca's attorney is going to argue that I signed that document willingly and that the language was not deceptive.
The only gap in our case is a witness who was present in that room."
She understood immediately.
I watched her understand it.
"If I testify," she said slowly, "he will come after me.
My career.
My references.
Everything I built at that firm — he'll burn it."
"Probably."
"And you're still asking."
"My children need a stable home," I said.
"Not with him.
With me.
And the only way to make sure that happens is to close that gap."
She was quiet for a long moment.
Outside the lobby windows, the street was gray and wet.
A taxi moved slowly through traffic.
"He told me I was the only one," she said.
It wasn't directed at me.
It was directed somewhere else — at some version of herself that had believed it.
"They always do," I said.
She looked back at me.
Something had settled in her face.
Not peace, exactly.
More like a decision that had been waiting to be made.
"I'll testify," she said.
I nodded.
"There's one more thing," she said.
She reached into the pocket of her sweater and pulled out a folded piece of paper.
"He asked me to hold onto this.
Three months ago.
He said it was a backup copy of something and that I should keep it somewhere safe and never mention it to anyone." She set it on the table between us.
"I don't know what it is.
I never opened it.
But I think you should give it to your attorney."
I looked at the folded paper.
I didn't touch it yet.
"Why are you giving this to me?"
She looked at me steadily.
"Because he packed your suitcases in front of your children."
I picked up the paper and put it in my bag.
Then I stood.
"I'll have Rachel's office contact you about Friday."
She nodded.
I was almost to the door when she called after me.
"Jessi."
I turned.
"I'm sorry," she said.
"For all of it."
I looked at her for a moment.
She meant it.
I could see that she meant it.
May you like
"Get a good attorney," I said.
"He's going to need someone to blame."
