Chapter 2 - Twelve Cars and One Empty Chair
The first Rolls-Royce smelled faintly of leather, peppermint, and her father’s aftershave.
Lana sat between Gabriel and her older brother, Nico, while her younger brother, Marco, occupied the seat opposite them.
Nobody asked why she had finally called.
That kindness nearly undid her.
Outside, the other cars eased into traffic.
“Why twelve?” she asked.
Marco loosened his tie.
“Dad was leaving the foundation dinner when you called. Half the family decided they were coming.”
“The other half?”
“Already arguing about who gets to feed you.”
Lana laughed once.
Then she cried so suddenly that Nico reached for the tissue box without looking surprised.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered.
Gabriel took her hand.
“For leaving him?”
“For letting you think I was happy.”
Her father looked older than he had at Christmas.
“You never owed us a performance.”
She pressed a tissue beneath her eyes.
Five years earlier, she had met Arthur at a neighborhood fundraiser. He had arrived late, spilled coffee on his notes, and stayed afterward to stack chairs.
He had been building a small investment firm then.
He had listened when she talked about restoring old public buildings. He had remembered how she took her coffee. Once, during a blackout, they had eaten melting ice cream straight from the carton and planned a life neither could yet afford.
That was the man she had married.
She had kept her family’s wealth in the background because she wanted something that belonged to them.
Her father had respected it.
Arthur had signed a prenuptial agreement with independent counsel. The document protected both spouses’ premarital interests, including Lana’s family holdings. Its schedules had been available to him.
He had delegated the reading.
Over time, he had delegated most things involving her.
The convoy stopped outside the Moretti family’s Manhattan residence.
Her aunt Teresa opened the door before anyone rang.
“There’s soup,” she announced.
Lana nearly cried again.
Upstairs, her old room had fresh sheets, a vase of white tulips, and the crooked ceramic bird she had made when she was eleven.
Nothing had been replaced to impress anyone.
At midnight, after soup and a shower, she found Gabriel in the library.
He was looking at a photograph of her mother.
“She would have come upstairs herself,” he said.
“With a suitcase.”
“With a moving truck.”
Lana smiled.
Her mother had died seven years earlier. Even now, grief sometimes arrived disguised as the wish to tell her something ordinary.
Gabriel gestured toward the chair opposite him.
“Do you want me to withdraw our investment?”
“No.”
He studied her.
“Not because of the divorce,” Lana added. “Employees and pension clients didn’t hurt me.”
“That was my thought too.”
“But I’d like to review the Hudson portfolio.”
Her father’s expression changed.
“Why?”
“The literacy center received a relocation notice last week. Arthur said it was routine. The property belongs to a partnership in his fund.”
“You think something is wrong?”
“I think I believed him because asking twice had become exhausting.”
Gabriel nodded slowly.
“I’ll have the investment office send what you’re entitled to see.”
The following morning, Lana woke to twenty-three messages.
Arthur had progressed from confusion to wounded outrage.
Why didn’t you tell me?
This changes the entire conversation.
We need to handle this privately.
The last message arrived at 6:41.
Please call me.
She forwarded everything to her attorney, Miriam Shaw.
Then she called the literacy center.
The director answered on the second ring.
“Lana? I’m sorry. I know you have personal things happening.”
“What happened, Grace?”
A long silence.
“Someone changed the locks.”
Lana sat upright.
“What?”
“There’s a demolition notice on the front door. They say the building was inspected and declared unsafe.”
“The engineer’s report last month said it needed repairs.”
“I know.”
“Where are the students?”
“In the church basement. Mrs. Alvarez brought folding tables.”
Lana closed her eyes.
She had spent two years teaching adults to read there.
A grandmother practicing birthday cards.
A delivery driver studying for a promotion.
A teenager who pretended to hate books until someone found the right one.
Arthur had once called it her little hobby.
“Send me every notice,” Lana said.
Downstairs, her father was eating breakfast.
She entered carrying her laptop.
“I’m going to need an office.”
Gabriel put down his newspaper.
“For the divorce?”
“No.”
She opened the photograph Grace had sent.
Across the center’s front door hung a bright orange notice.
May you like
At the bottom was a scanned authorization bearing Lana’s signature.
“I think someone used my name.”
