Chapter 7: The Offer on the Table
The number was three hundred thousand pounds.
A clean break, the letter said.
Full and final settlement.
No further claims against the matrimonial estate.
No disclosure of private correspondence.
Both parties to move forward.
I read it twice.
"He's scared," Harold said.
"He should be," Grace said.
"But scared people sometimes become dangerous people.
I want you to be careful, Emily.
Don't meet with him alone.
Don't respond to his messages directly.
Everything goes through me."
"He's been calling."
"I know.
I've asked his solicitor to direct all communication through this office." She paused.
"He may try to reach you through other channels.
Friends.
Family members.
People you trust."
I thought of Daniel's sister, Petra.
We had been close once — closer than I'd been to anyone in that family.
She had sent me a message at midnight: *Emily I don't know what's happening but please call me.*
I hadn't called back yet.
"What about the injunction?" Harold asked.
"The court will review it Thursday.
I expect it to be dismissed.
The forgery documentation is clean and the transfer was executed before any dispute was formally raised." Grace looked at me.
"In the meantime, the house is legally yours.
You can return to it whenever you choose, or not at all.
That decision is entirely yours."
I thought about the house.
The dining room with the Christmas table still set.
The ring beside Daniel's plate.
The candles probably burned down to nothing by now.
"I don't want to go back there," I said.
"You don't have to."
"What I want—" I stopped.
Started again.
"What I want is for the forgery to be on record.
Formally.
Not settled quietly.
I want it documented."
Grace studied me.
"That means a longer process," she said.
"It means disclosure.
It means Daniel's legal team will look for anything they can use."
"I know."
"It also means Carla Voss may become relevant to proceedings."
"I know that too."
Harold was quiet beside me.
He didn't try to steer me.
"All right," Grace said.
"Then we don't settle.
We proceed." She made a note.
"I'll send the rejection this afternoon."
When we stood to leave, Grace walked us to the door.
She shook Harold's hand.
Then mine.
"One thing I want to say," she said.
"And I say this as your legal representative, not as general advice." She looked at me steadily.
"What you're doing takes courage.
A lot of people in your position take the money and disappear.
There's no shame in that.
But the record matters.
For you and for anyone who comes after you."
I didn't know what to say to that.
So I just said, "Thank you."
In the lift going down, Harold said nothing for a moment.
Then: "Are you all right?"
"I think so."
"You don't have to be."
"I know." The lift opened.
We walked out into the cold.
"Harold — does Daniel know about the letter?
That you have a copy?"
"He knows I have documents.
He doesn't know which ones."
"He'll find out when Grace files the response."
"Yes."
"And then he'll know there's nothing left to negotiate."
Harold pulled his coat closed against the wind.
"Yes," he said.
"And then we'll see what he does."
My phone buzzed.
Not Daniel this time.
Miriam.
A single text: *I think you should know something about Harold before you trust him completely.*
I stared at it.
Then I showed it to Harold.
He read it.
His jaw tightened — just slightly, just once.
"What does she mean?" I said.
He was quiet for three full seconds.
May you like
"There's something I haven't told you yet," he said.
"About why I waited four months before acting."
