Chapter 4: What Richard Did to the House
I turned around slowly.
Patrice was still standing by the window.
She had set the paperback down on the side table.
Her arms were crossed again, but differently now — not defensive.
Braced.
"Sit down," she said.
"Please."
"Just tell me."
She looked at the floor for a moment.
"About four years ago, Richard asked me to witness a document.
He said it was a formality.
A refinancing.
I signed where he told me to sign and I didn't ask questions." She paused.
"I should have asked questions."
"What was the document?"
"I don't know exactly.
But six months ago, Richard told me — he was upset that night, we'd had an argument — he told me that if anything ever happened to him, this house was protected.
His words.
*This house is protected.* And then he said yours wasn't."
The air went out of the room.
"What does that mean?" I said.
"What does *yours wasn't* mean?"
"I think he borrowed against your house," she said.
"I think he used it as collateral for something.
I don't know what.
He wouldn't tell me the details and I didn't push." She looked up at me.
"I'm sorry.
I know that doesn't mean anything coming from me.
But I'm telling you now because you have a right to know."
I sat back down.
Not because I wanted to.
Because my legs made the decision for me.
"He controlled everything," I said, mostly to myself.
"I never saw the bank statements.
He handled all of it.
I never even had my own account until — " I stopped.
"Until now," Patrice said quietly.
I looked at her.
"Why are you telling me this?
You could have said nothing.
I would have left and never come back."
She was quiet for a moment.
"Because I've been living with what I know for six months and it's been eating me alive." She picked up the paperback, then set it down again.
"And because I think Richard controlled both of us.
In different ways.
For a very long time."
I didn't answer that.
I wasn't ready to.
"Do you have the document?" I asked.
"The one you signed?"
"No.
He kept everything."
"Do you remember the name of the company?
A bank?
A lawyer?"
She thought for a moment.
"There was a name on the letterhead.
I only saw it for a second." She pressed her fingers to her forehead.
"Mercer.
I think it said Mercer something.
Mercer Financial, maybe.
Or Mercer Holdings."
I wrote it down in my phone.
"Is there anything else?" I asked.
She hesitated again.
That hesitation was becoming familiar.
Every time she did it, something worse came out.
"He had a storage unit," she said.
"He mentioned it once.
He kept files there.
Personal files, he said.
Things he didn't want at either house."
"Where?"
"I don't know.
I only know it existed because he mentioned it when he was angry.
He said — " She stopped.
"What did he say?"
"He said, *Everything I've built is documented.
Every decision.
Every cent.
And it's all somewhere neither of you will ever find it.*"
The room went very still.
*Neither of you.* Not *none of you.* Not *anyone.*
Two of us.
He had been managing two households, two women, two lives — and he had kept records of all of it, locked away somewhere, as though it were an achievement.
I stood up.
This time I made it all the way to the door.
"If you remember anything else," I said, "anything at all — will you call me?"
Patrice nodded.
She wrote her number on a slip of paper from the kitchen counter and handed it to me at the door.
I walked back to the truck.
I sat in the driver's seat.
I looked at the blue house with the white trim and the marigolds.
Then I called Daniel.
He picked up on the first ring.
"Mom — "
"I know you've been to that house," I said.
"I know you met her.
And I know you've been protecting something.
So I need you to tell me right now — do you know about a storage unit?"
The silence on the other end lasted four full seconds.
"Mom," he said.
"Come home.
We need to talk.
All three of us."
"All three of — " I stopped.
May you like
"Your brother and sister know too?"
But he had already hung up.
