Chapter 6: What Lisa Didn't Know
"He told me she'd already signed everything," Lisa said.
"He said it was handled.
He said the house had been in his name for years."
"It was never in his name," I said.
"She bought it before they married.
He had no legal claim to it."
Lisa sat down in the empty chair without being invited.
She looked like her legs had stopped cooperating.
"The papers," I said.
"The ones he needed her to sign before she p\*ssed.
Did he ever mention them to you?"
"He said — " Lisa stopped.
She pressed her fingers to her mouth for a moment.
"He said there were some financial documents she needed to sign.
Something about a joint account.
He said she was happy to do it, that it was just tidying things up."
"She never signed them," I said.
"He needed her signature to transfer the savings account.
She refused."
Lisa stared at the table.
"He told you she signed," I said.
"Yes."
"She didn't.
And when she realized what he was trying to do, she went to a solicitor and changed the will entirely.
The house goes to me.
The savings account goes to me.
He gets nothing."
Lisa was very still.
"He's been lying to you too," Dot said.
Not unkindly.
Just plainly.
Lisa looked at Dot.
Something shifted in her face — not the crumbling of a guilty person, but something more complicated.
The look of someone recalculating a long series of things they had accepted as true.
"The recording," Lisa said slowly.
"The one on the USB drive.
Is he on it?"
"Yes," I said.
"What does he say?"
I looked at her for a moment.
"He says he's been playing the loving husband.
He says he needs to make sure he gets the house.
He says your name."
Lisa closed her eyes.
"I need to hear it," she said.
"Why?"
"Because I need to know exactly what I walked into." She opened her eyes.
"And I need to know what he's capable of.
Because if he forged your mother's signature on a legal document — " She stopped.
"We signed papers last week.
Before the wedding.
A joint financial agreement.
He drafted it.
I didn't have a solicitor look at it."
The room was quiet.
"What did it cover?" I asked.
"My flat," she said.
"I own it outright.
My parents left it to me.
He said the agreement was just a formality — something about combining assets after the wedding." Her voice was very controlled now, the way a person sounds when they are frightened and refusing to show it.
"He said it was standard."
Dot and I looked at each other.
"You need to call a solicitor tonight," Dot said.
"Before anything else happens."
"He'll know," Lisa said.
"If I make a call—"
"He's out there right now," I said, "telling people whatever story keeps him standing.
He is not thinking about you.
He is thinking about himself.
He has always been thinking about himself."
Lisa looked at me.
"I know I have no right to ask you for anything."
"No," I said.
"You don't."
She nodded.
She accepted that.
"But I'm asking anyway," she said.
"Not for forgiveness.
I'm not asking for that.
I'm asking — if what's on that drive is enough to stop him — will you use it?"
"I already planned to," I said.
"Then use it for everything," she said.
"Not just the house.
Everything."
She stood up.
She straightened her dress out of habit, then seemed to realize what she was wearing and stopped.
"I'm going to call my solicitor," she said.
"Right now.
From the car park."
She walked to the door.
She stopped with her hand on the frame.
"Your mother came to my flat once," she said, without turning around.
"About two years ago.
Before I — before any of this.
She brought me flowers because I'd been ill.
She sat with me for an hour." A pause.
"I've thought about that every day since."
She left.
The door swung shut.
Dot looked at the closed door for a moment.
"Well," she said quietly.
"I know," I said.
Outside, through the wall, I could hear my father's voice — louder now, the reasonable tone gone, something harder underneath it.
He was talking to someone.
More than one person, by the sound of it.
I picked up Patricia Hale's card from the table.
"Tomorrow morning," Dot said.
"Tomorrow morning," I said.
But tomorrow morning felt very far away.
Because through the gap under the door, I could see the shadow of someone standing just outside it.
Standing still.
May you like
Not knocking.
Just waiting.
