Chapter 6: After the Door Closed
I ran cold water over my wrists at the kitchen sink.
An old trick my mother had taught me — when everything is too loud inside, find something cold and real.
The water helped.
Daniel came in two minutes later.
He closed the kitchen door behind him and stood near it, not coming closer, like he wasn't sure of his welcome.
"Are you okay?" he asked.
"No," I said.
"Are you?"
"No."
I turned off the tap.
Dried my hands.
Checked the oven out of habit — thirty minutes left on the turkey.
"You need to tell me everything," I said.
"Not the version where you protect her feelings.
Everything."
Daniel pulled out a kitchen chair and sat down.
He looked tired in a way that went past one bad afternoon.
"Richard has been managing Mom's money since Dad died," he said.
"Investments, the house in Clearwater, a rental property she has in her name.
He takes a percentage.
Has for twelve years."
"And your father's estate?"
A pause.
"There were some irregularities.
After Dad died, I asked to see the full accounting.
Richard said it had all been handled correctly.
Mom backed him up."
"Did you push it?"
"I hired an accountant.
Briefly." He looked at the table.
"Mom found out.
She called me every day for two weeks.
Said I was destroying the family.
Said Dad would be ashamed." He stopped.
"I dropped it."
I sat down across from him.
"Daniel.
How much money are we talking about?"
"My father's estate was valued at around four hundred thousand dollars.
After Richard's fees, taxes, and what Mom says were various expenses—" He stopped again.
"I received forty-two thousand."
The oven ticked.
"And you dropped it," I said.
"She cried every time I brought it up.
Every single time.
Thirty years of that — you learn to stop."
I looked at my husband.
The man who laughed things off.
Who said just let her have this one day.
Who rubbed the back of his neck and said he figured she'd already talked to me.
"The document Richard brought today," I said.
"If we had signed it — if I had been flustered enough, or guilty enough, or just tired enough to sign it — what would have happened?"
"They would have had legal standing in this house," he said.
"And if we ever divorced, or if I died, or if there was any financial judgment against me — they could have moved to claim it."
"And Richard would take his percentage."
Daniel nodded.
I stood up.
Went to the counter.
Began taking the place cards from the side table and carrying them to the dining room, setting each one at its correct seat.
Daniel followed me to the doorway and watched.
"What are you doing?" he asked.
"Setting the table," I said.
"For the people I invited."
"Olivia—"
"I need you to do something for me," I said.
"Tonight, after everyone goes home.
I need you to find whatever you still have from that accountant you hired.
Every document.
Every note."
He was quiet for a moment.
"Okay," he said.
"And I need you to call that accountant tomorrow."
"It's been four years."
"Call anyway."
I set the last place card down.
Twelve seats.
Twelve names.
Every one of them chosen.
"There's something else," Daniel said from the doorway.
I looked up.
"Richard didn't write that document alone," he said.
May you like
"The law firm on the letterhead — I recognized it.
It's the same firm that handled Dad's estate."
