Chapter 7: The Morning Serena Stopped Pretending
At nine fifteen, Serena came downstairs.
She was dressed.
Her hair was done.
She carried her bag over one shoulder, and she walked into the dining room as though the previous night had been a minor disagreement between people who would soon find their way back to each other.
Rosa was setting the table.
She stopped when Serena walked in.
"I'd like coffee," Serena said.
Rosa looked at her for a moment.
Then she went to the kitchen.
Serena sat at the head of the table.
Victor's chair.
Patricia Cho walked in from the hallway with a colleague behind her.
Serena looked up.
"Who are you?"
"Patricia Cho.
I'm Mr.
Blackwood's attorney." She set a document on the table — not at Serena's end.
At the far end, face down.
"Mr.
Blackwood will be with you shortly.
In the meantime, I'd ask that you not use your phone."
Serena's eyes narrowed.
"You can't tell me what to do."
"No," Patricia agreed.
"I can't." She sat down and opened her document case.
"But the financial crimes unit can.
They'll be here at ten."
Serena went very still.
"This is a mistake," she said.
"Victor is emotional.
He's grieving.
He's been grieving for eighteen months and he made a poor decision letting a disgruntled nanny and a housekeeper influence him.
When he's calmer—"
"He signed the authorization this morning," Patricia said.
"He was very calm."
Rosa came back with the coffee.
She set it at the far end of the table, not where Serena was sitting.
Then she left without a word.
Serena pushed back her chair and stood.
"I want to speak to Victor.
Now."
"He's with Ethan."
"Then I'll go to—"
"You won't." Patricia's voice didn't rise.
"You agreed last night, in front of witnesses, to stay away from Ethan's room.
Mr.
Blackwood has that on record."
Serena's composure was thinning.
The careful softness she had worn for eighteen months was peeling back at the edges.
"You have nothing on me," she said.
"A recording of a bad night.
A property I purchased legally.
A friend who once worked at the same company as Victor.
That is nothing."
"Then you have nothing to worry about," Patricia said.
Victor walked in.
He didn't look at Serena first.
He poured himself coffee, stood at the sideboard, and took one slow sip.
Then he turned.
"Marcus Hale is being brought in for questioning this morning," he said.
"The shell company he used to fund your property purchase was incorporated twenty-two months ago.
Claire was still alive." He set his cup down.
"Your mother worked on our prenuptial agreement.
She had access to the full asset structure of this estate."
Serena said nothing.
"I want to ask you one question," Victor said.
"And I want you to think carefully before you answer, because Patricia is in this room and everything you say matters." He looked at her directly.
"Did you know Claire before the charity event where we met?"
A long silence.
Serena's jaw moved slightly.
Her hand found the back of the chair.
"No," she said.
Victor nodded slowly.
He reached into his jacket pocket and placed a photograph on the table.
It was a picture from a hospital fundraiser — five years old, based on the date printed in the corner.
In the background, slightly out of focus but unmistakably present: Serena, standing two feet from Claire, both of them looking at the same display.
"Her name is on the donor list," Victor said.
"Same event.
Same evening." He tapped the photograph once.
"You knew her."
Serena looked at the photograph for a long time.
When she looked up, something had changed in her face.
The softness was gone entirely.
What was underneath it was harder and colder and had probably always been there.
"You can't prove what I knew or didn't know from a photograph," she said.
"No," Victor said.
"But I can prove you lied to me just now.
In front of my attorney."
Patricia was already writing.
Serena picked up her bag.
"I'm leaving," she said.
"You're free to go," Victor said.
"Patricia will note the time for the record.
The financial crimes team will find you when they're ready."
Serena walked to the door.
She stopped with her hand on the frame.
"I did care about him," she said.
Not about Victor.
"Ethan.
Whatever you think — I wasn't always—"
"Don't," Victor said quietly.
She left.
The front door closed.
Patricia looked up from her notes.
"She'll go to Marcus."
May you like
"I know," Victor said.
"Grant is already outside."
