Chapter 4: What His Mother Already Knew
My mother was waiting in the car park with the engine running.
She saw my face through the windscreen before I reached the car and was out of the driver's seat before I'd even unclipped the first baby from the stroller.
"Well?" she said.
"He brought her to the airport."
She stopped with her hands on the stroller frame.
"He brought her."
"White blouse.
Red nails.
She left him standing there when she found out about the fraud investigation."
My mother made a sound that wasn't quite a word.
She lifted the nearest baby — Rosie, the smallest, the one who'd spent the longest in the NICU — and held her against her chest without another word.
We drove home mostly in silence.
The girls slept.
The motorway lights moved across the ceiling of the car in slow orange stripes.
"He's going to fight it," I said.
"Let him."
"Mum.
He has money.
His family has money."
"So do you." She glanced at me.
"You just don't know it yet."
I looked at her.
"What does that mean?"
She kept her eyes on the road.
"It means your father and I didn't spend thirty-one years building something just to watch a man like Daniel walk away with it." She changed lanes.
"The money I lent you last year — the amount you used to pay the solicitor — that wasn't a loan."
"You said it was a loan."
"I said a lot of things." She signaled, turned.
"I also called Patricia."
I went still.
"Daniel's mother?"
"We've known each other twenty years, Helen.
Did you think I wouldn't?"
"What did she say?"
My mother was quiet for a moment.
"She said she knew about the woman.
Had known since the second month.
She tried to call him.
He ignored her." She paused.
"She also said she'd already spoken to her solicitor about the property Daniel inherited from his grandfather."
"The cottage?"
"It's in a family trust.
Daniel can't transfer it, sell it, or use it as collateral without a family trustee signature." My mother glanced at me in the rear-view mirror.
"Patricia is the trustee."
The motorway hummed under the tyres.
"She's not signing anything that benefits him," my mother said.
"Not now."
I pressed my fingers against my eyes.
Not crying.
Just — holding something in.
"He's going to say I turned his family against him."
"His family watched him leave a woman on bed rest with triplets and post champagne photos for four months." My mother's voice was even and flat.
"He turned them against himself."
We pulled into the driveway.
The house was lit up — my mother had left every downstairs light on before she came to collect us.
It looked warm from the outside.
It looked like something worth keeping.
I got out of the car and stood for a moment in the cold air, listening to the girls breathing in the back seat.
My phone buzzed.
A number I didn't recognise.
I answered.
"Mrs.
Calloway?" A man's voice.
Careful.
Professional.
"This is Graham Holt.
I'm a senior investigator with Meridian Group's internal compliance team.
I understand you spoke with one of my colleagues six weeks ago regarding the Calloway cruise prize claim."
"I did," I said.
"We've completed our preliminary review.
I'd like to arrange a meeting at your convenience.
There are some findings I think you'll want to hear in person."
I looked at the lit windows of the house.
"Monday works," I said.
"Morning."
"Monday morning," he said.
"Thank you, Mrs.
Calloway."
I ended the call and stood in the driveway a moment longer.
Then my mother appeared in the doorway with Rosie on her shoulder, and she said, "Come inside.
It's cold."
May you like
I went inside.
But I knew, with absolute certainty, that Daniel's phone was ringing too — and that he had no idea yet how many people had already stopped waiting for him to do the right thing.
