Chapter 8: What Vane Had Built
We sat across from each other at the small table in the corner of her classroom, surrounded by children's drawings and alphabet charts and the particular quiet of a school building after hours.
I told her everything.
The grave.
The envelope.
Diane.
Grace.
The trust.
The reversion clause.
Nora listened without interrupting.
She sat with her hands flat on the table and her eyes on my face, and the only time her expression changed was when I explained the reversion clause — what happened to the trust if she d*ed or was declared incapacitated before her thirtieth birthday.
Her hands pressed harder against the table.
"Three years ago," she said.
"I was in a car accident.
Single vehicle.
I lost control on a dry road in good conditions.
The car went into a ditch." She paused.
"Curtis was the one who found me.
He was the one who called it in."
The room felt colder.
"Were you hurt?"
"Concussion.
Broken wrist.
I was in the hospital for two days." She looked at the table.
"He was very attentive.
Very concerned.
I remember thinking it was the most attention he had ever paid me." Her voice was flat now, controlled.
"The investigating officer said the brake line showed unusual wear.
Curtis told me old cars were unreliable.
I believed him."
I said nothing.
"He's been telling me for the last year that I should have a full medical workup.
That I seem tired.
That he's worried about my health." She looked up.
"He offered to connect me with a specialist.
A friend of his."
"Don't go," I said.
"I know." She stood up and walked to the window.
"He controls my bank account.
Did you know that?
I let him set it up when I was twenty-two and I was stupid and I trusted him and I have been meaning to change it for years and I never did."
"Grace can help you with that.
Today, if you want."
"Who else knows about this?"
"My father.
Diane.
Grace.
Me."
"Not Marsh?"
"Not yet."
She turned back from the window.
"What does Grace need from me?"
"Your testimony.
Your account of the accident.
Any financial records you can access.
And—" I hesitated.
"Nora.
She thinks Vane may try to move quickly now that I've started asking questions.
If he finds out I came to you—"
"He'll know." She said it without hesitation.
"He has a contact at the school.
One of the administrative staff.
I've suspected it for a while but I could never prove it." She crossed her arms.
"He'll know I had a visitor today."
My phone buzzed on the table between us.
A number I didn't recognize.
I answered it.
"Katherine Calloway." The voice was male.
Older.
Smooth in a way that felt practiced.
"My name is Curtis Vane.
I think it's time we spoke."
Nora's eyes locked onto mine.
I kept my voice completely even.
"Mr.
Vane."
"I understand you've been doing some research into your family history.
I think there may be some misunderstandings I can help clarify.
Why don't we meet?
Just the two of us.
I can explain everything in a way that I think will put your mind at ease."
"That's very kind of you," I said.
"Tomorrow morning?
I can come to you."
"I'll be in touch," I said, and ended the call.
Nora hadn't moved.
"He knows," she said.
May you like
"Yes." I set the phone down.
"Which means we have tonight."
