Chapter 6: All Three of Us
I didn't answer Vanessa's text.
I drove back to the hotel, went up to my office, and closed the door.
My assistant knocked twice.
I told her to hold everything.
Then I called my father.
He answered on the first ring, which meant he was in his study — the one place in the house where he kept his own phone and didn't route calls through my mother's assistant.
"Ethan.
I heard there was an incident at the gala."
"There was.
That's not why I'm calling."
A pause.
"All right."
"Do you know the name Claire Ashworth?"
The pause this time was longer.
"She worked in the financial office," he said carefully.
"She left several years ago."
"She left because Mom threatened her."
Silence.
"Dad."
"Where is this coming from?"
"A witness.
Someone who was in the east wing corridor the night Mom intercepted her."
I heard him exhale slowly.
Not the exhale of a man who was surprised.
The exhale of a man who had been waiting for a particular conversation for a long time and was now deciding how to have it.
"The transfers Claire found," I said.
"What were they?"
"Ethan—"
"I'm not asking to cause trouble.
I'm asking because I need to understand what I'm standing in the middle of."
Another long silence.
Then: "Come to the house.
Not tonight — your mother has arranged something tonight and I won't be able to speak freely.
Tomorrow morning.
Come early."
"She's arranged a meeting.
With me and Vanessa."
"I know." His voice was flat.
"Come tomorrow.
Before she's up."
He ended the call.
I sat with the phone in my hand.
The meeting that night was at my mother's house — the original family estate, not the apartment she kept in the city.
Vanessa was already there when I arrived.
She was in the front sitting room with a glass of wine, and she looked at me the way she had looked at me in the corridor: as if I were slightly behind on something obvious.
"You've been difficult to reach," she said.
"I've been busy."
My mother came in from the hallway.
She was dressed as she always dressed for home — understated, precise, nothing out of place.
She kissed my cheek and gestured toward the chairs.
"Sit down, Ethan."
I didn't sit.
"You spoke to her today," my mother said.
It wasn't a question.
"Yes."
"And she told you things."
"Yes."
Vanessa set her wine glass down.
"What things?"
My mother held up one hand — a small gesture, barely a movement — and Vanessa went quiet.
That small gesture told me more than the last six years had.
"Maya Bennett signed an agreement," my mother said.
"Whatever she told you today, she told you in violation of that agreement.
Anything she claims is legally compromised."
"She showed me the document."
"She showed you her copy.
Which means nothing."
"It means she kept it.
For six years." I looked at my mother.
"It also means she knows what's in it.
And so do I now."
My mother's expression didn't change.
That was the thing about her — she had never needed to show alarm because she had always been several steps ahead.
But she was quiet for just a fraction of a second too long.
"Whatever she told you about Claire Ashworth is hearsay," she said.
"Then why is Claire Ashworth's name in the agreement?"
Vanessa looked between us.
"Who is Claire Ashworth?"
Neither of us answered her.
My mother took one step toward me.
Her voice dropped — not in anger, but in the register she used when she wanted to make sure something landed.
"You have a marriage, Ethan.
You have a family name.
You have properties that employ four hundred people.
Whatever grievance a former girlfriend has constructed after six years of resentment is not worth dismantling all of that."
"She didn't construct anything.
You did."
"I made decisions that protected this family."
"You made decisions that protected yourself." I looked at Vanessa.
"Both of you."
Vanessa stood up.
"I don't know what she told you—"
"You were in Portland," I said.
"You told her I'd be engaged within the year.
You knew everything my mother had done and you said nothing.
For six years you said nothing."
The color left Vanessa's face.
"That was before we were together—"
"It was during.
You were already being introduced to my family.
You knew what was being done to her and you let it happen because it was convenient for you."
"Ethan." My mother's voice was sharp now.
"That is enough."
"No," I said.
"It isn't."
I picked up my jacket from the back of the chair.
"I want to know about the transfers," I said.
"And I want to know before tomorrow morning, because I'm meeting with Dad then and I'd rather hear it from you first."
My mother's chin lifted.
"You will not involve your father in this."
"He's already involved.
He's been involved since Claire Ashworth walked into that corridor." I moved toward the door.
"Tell me the truth tonight, or I find it out another way."
I left them standing in the sitting room — my mother perfectly still, Vanessa with her hand on the back of the chair, the wine glass on the table between them catching the lamplight.
May you like
Neither of them called after me.
That silence, more than anything else, told me I was right.
