Mark stared at his wife.
“How much?”
Alicia wiped beneath one eye.
“Mark—”
“How much?”
She looked at the table.
“Seventy-three thousand.”
My son actually stepped backward.
I had never seen a face lose color that quickly.
“The twins had eighty-one.”
“I know.”
“You lost seventy-three thousand dollars?”
“I didn’t lose it.”
Thomas spoke quietly.
“Then where is it?”
Alicia looked at him.
“Investments.”
Mark laughed once.
There was no humor in it.
“What investments?”
“I was trying to grow it.”
“With who?”
She didn’t answer.
“Alicia.”
“Bruce introduced me to someone.”
The room changed again.
Bruce.
Of course.
Mark grabbed the back of his chair.
“When?”
“Last spring.”
“And you never told me?”
“I was going to put everything back.”
“From my mother’s house?”
Alicia started crying for real then.
“I panicked.”
I watched my son.
Part of me wanted to comfort him.
That instinct had survived everything.
But then I remembered his voice from the car.
Yeah.
He had known they planned to move me.
He had known they planned to sell my home.
Maybe he hadn’t known why.
But he’d known enough.
Thomas looked at Alicia.
“Was Bruce involved in the investment?”
“He introduced me. That’s all.”
“To whom?”
“A man named Daniel Cross.”
Thomas wrote it down.
“How much did you initially give him?”
“Twenty thousand.”
“And then?”
“Another thirty.”
“And then?”
She hesitated.
“Twenty-three.”
Mark closed his eyes.
Seventy-three thousand.
Almost exactly what she’d said was gone.
I suddenly remembered something.
“The boat.”
Everyone looked at me.
During the pocket dial, Alicia had said:
That’s the lake trip, that’s the boat, that’s everything.
I couldn’t quote those words without exposing myself.
So I asked carefully.
“Why was Bruce talking about a boat?”
Alicia froze.
Mark frowned.
“What boat?”
For half a second, I’d gone too far.
Then I pointed at the valuation.
“Bruce mentioned boats the last time he was here.”
Alicia relaxed slightly.
Thomas noticed my improvisation but said nothing.
Mark looked back at his wife.
“What boat?”
“There isn’t one.”
Thomas closed the folder.
“I think we’ve reached the point where Dorothy needs independent copies of every document here.”
Alicia stood.
“I want my folder.”
“No,” I said.
She stared at me.
It was the first time that morning I’d said the word firmly.
“This folder came into my house containing papers about my property, my finances, my supposed medical condition, and a signature that looks like mine.”
I placed my hand over it.
“It stays.”
“Mother D—”
“Don’t.”
She stopped.
I had never told her not to call me that before.
But suddenly I couldn’t bear hearing it.
“Dorothy,” I said.
Her lips parted.
“My name is Dorothy.”
Mark looked away.
Thomas quietly placed the folder inside his briefcase.
Then he stood.
“I recommend we end this conversation for today.”
Alicia grabbed her coat.
Mark didn’t move.
“Aren’t you coming?” she asked.
He looked at her.
“No.”
Her expression hardened.
“Mark.”
“I said no.”
She stared at him for several seconds.
Then she walked out.
The front door slammed.
Through the kitchen window, I saw Eleanor’s curtain move.
Still watching.
Still recording.
Good.
Mark sat down again.
For perhaps a minute, none of us spoke.
Then my son looked at me.
“Mom…”
I waited.
His eyes were red.
“I didn’t know about the college money.”
“I believe you.”
Relief appeared on his face.
I wasn’t finished.
“But you knew about Silver Meadows.”
The relief disappeared.
“You knew about selling my house.”
He lowered his head.
“Yes.”
“And you came here prepared to look sad while your wife convinced me to sign papers.”
His eyes snapped up.
For one terrible second, I thought I’d revealed the call.
But I hadn’t.
Not exactly.
Because Alicia had told him to look sad before they arrived.
He could assume I’d noticed his behavior.
Thomas watched both of us.
Mark whispered:
“I thought you had agreed.”
“No, you didn’t.”
He flinched.
I surprised myself with how calmly I said it.
“If you believed I’d agreed, you wouldn’t have needed to convince me.”
He had no answer.
That was when Thomas’s phone vibrated.
He looked at the screen.
A message.
He read it.
Then looked at me.
“It’s Bruce.”
Mark stood.
“What does he want?”
Thomas read the message again.
“He sent the October ninth email.”
My heart began beating harder.
“The one from Alicia?”
“Yes.”
Thomas opened the attachment.
His expression changed.
“What?”
He turned the phone toward us.
The email was short.
But attached beneath it were two files.
The first was the document carrying my false signature.
The second had a filename that meant nothing to me.
Thomas opened it.
Then went completely still.
“Dorothy…”
“What is it?”
He enlarged the page.
At the top was my name.
Below it were columns of numbers.
Bank accounts.
Property value.
Insurance.
Investments.
And one account I hadn’t discussed with Mark in years.
Thomas looked at me.
“This isn’t just information about your house.”
I stared at the screen.
Someone had prepared an inventory.
Not of the property.
Of me.
My house.
My savings.
My retirement accounts.
Everything.
At the bottom was one handwritten note:
Estimated total available: $412,600.
Mark whispered:
“Where did Alicia get that?”
I looked at Thomas.
He looked back at me.
And suddenly the question wasn’t whether Alicia planned to sell my house.
The question was much worse.
How had she learned exactly what I owned?
