Chapter 8: Everything on the Table
She answered the door on the second knock.
Whatever she'd expected — more silence, more distance, more time — it wasn't me standing on her doorstep at eleven in the morning with Frank's letter in my bag and nothing left to lose.
"We need to talk," I said.
"Properly this time."
She stepped back to let me in.
That surprised me slightly.
Then I understood — she wanted to know how much I had.
She couldn't find that out if she closed the door.
We sat at the same table where Frank's folder had been.
The folder was gone now.
She'd moved it.
"I know about Stephen Crane," I said.
Her hands, folded on the table, didn't move.
"I know about Hargreaves and Crane — the firm and the company.
I know you're a director.
I know what the property clause in that will was designed to do." I paused.
"And I know your father knew.
Before he came here."
"You don't know anything," she said.
"You have photographs of documents you don't understand and a ring with four words on it."
"I have recordings, Claire."
That landed.
Her hands separated.
One went to the edge of the table.
"Your father recorded his phone calls with Crane and with Hargreaves.
Before he boarded the plane.
He left the recordings with his solicitor, with instructions to give them to me if something happened to him." I watched her face.
"Something happened to him."
"Those recordings don't prove anything."
"They prove conspiracy to commit fraud.
They prove Hargreaves was approached before your father arrived — which means the will wasn't your father's idea.
It was already planned." I kept my voice even.
"It also means your father came here knowing what you'd done, and you let him d*e in a foreign country and handled his cremation yourself and sent me a blue urn because you knew it was his favorite color and you thought that detail would keep me from asking questions."
"He had a heart attack." Her voice was sharp now.
"I didn't cause that."
"No," I said.
"But you used it."
Silence.
"Claire." I leaned forward slightly.
"I'm not here to destroy you.
I'm here because he was your father and he loved you even when you were doing this to us.
He came here hoping there was still a version of you that could be reached." My voice didn't waver.
"Was there?"
Something moved across her face.
For just a moment, something real.
Then it closed.
"You should have stayed home," she said.
"He told me not to believe you." I stood.
"I didn't."
I was at the door when she spoke again.
"Crane won't let this go quietly." Her voice was flat.
Factual.
"He has lawyers.
He has connections.
You're one woman with a USB drive."
I turned around.
"Your father was one man with a phone," I said.
"Look how far that got us."
I walked out into the cold morning air and called Patricia from the pavement.
"Do you have the drive?"
"My assistant picked it up an hour ago.
I've listened to the first recording." A pause.
"Ruth, it's enough.
May you like
It's more than enough."
"Then let's finish it."
