Chapter 4 - What Lauren Wanted
Lauren came to the house on Wednesday afternoon.
Grace saw her through the front window and called Ruth before opening the door.
“Don’t meet with her alone,” Ruth said.
“She’s already here.”
“Then keep the door closed. If she has information, she can provide it through counsel.”
Grace stood behind the screen door.
Lauren looked different without an audience.
No satin. No sapphires.
Just a cream coat, expensive boots, and a face that had not slept well.
“Please,” she said. “Five minutes.”
“You can call my attorney.”
“Do you really want lawyers between us?”
Grace studied the woman who had once slept on a hospice waiting-room floor beside her.
“I wanted a friend between us.”
Lauren looked down.
For a few seconds, only a delivery truck’s engine disturbed the street.
Then she said, “Vincent told me you knew.”
Grace felt something inside her go still.
“Knew what?”
“That your marriage was an arrangement. That you stayed because of the business.”
“And you believed him?”
“At first.”
“At first,” Grace repeated.
Lauren’s eyes filled.
“It became complicated.”
“No. It became comfortable.”
“That’s cruel.”
Grace gripped the doorframe.
“Eleanor Tate’s power was almost disconnected.”
Lauren blinked.
“What?”
“The money. The apartment. Your invoices. Where did you think it came from?”
“Calder Freight.”
“The payments came through the Family Relief Trust.”
Lauren stepped back.
“No.”
Grace watched her closely.
It was the first reaction she had seen from Lauren that did not look prepared.
“Ask your lawyer to review your records,” Grace said. “Preserve everything.”
“Vincent said they were company expenses.”
“Some invoices described events that never happened.”
Lauren’s mouth opened, then closed.
There it was.
Not ignorance.
A smaller lie she had allowed herself because the larger truth had seemed inconvenient.
“You knew those were false,” Grace said.
“He said it was how they handled private entertaining.”
“You own an events company. You know what an event is.”
Lauren wiped her cheek angrily.
“I didn’t come here to be interrogated.”
“Then why did you come?”
She hesitated.
And Grace understood.
“He wants me to sign something,” Lauren whispered.
“What?”
“A statement. That I created the invoices without his knowledge.”
Grace felt a cold recognition.
Vincent had already begun arranging the room so somebody else would be standing closest to the fire.
“Don’t sign anything without your own attorney.”
“I can’t afford the kind he has.”
Grace almost said something sharp.
Instead, she remembered the relief she had felt when Ruth asked if she was safe.
“Find somebody who represents you,” she said. “Whatever else you do, understand the difference.”
Lauren searched her face.
“Would you tell them I didn’t know about the trust?”
“I’ll tell the truth about what I know. I won’t invent the rest for you.”
For a moment, Lauren looked nineteen again, frightened after wrecking her father’s car.
Back then, Grace had climbed into the passenger seat while they waited for help.
This time, she kept her hand on the door.
Lauren nodded.
Then she walked away.
An hour later, Nadia called.
“We found approval files attached to several transfers.”
Grace sat down.
“Vincent’s?”
“Some. Others carry your name.”
The kitchen seemed to tilt.
“I didn’t approve them.”
“I believe you. We still have to establish how they were created.”
Grace opened her laptop while Nadia explained.
The attached forms bore a scanned version of Grace’s signature.
She recognized it immediately.
A curl beneath the final letter. A tiny ink blot near the G.
It came from an old vendor authorization she had signed years earlier.
“They copied it,” she said.
“Find the original if you have it. Don’t alter the file.”
Grace went to the cabinet where she kept household paperwork.
Behind tax returns and appliance warranties sat an old blue binder.
The authorization was there.
Same curl.
Same blot.
She photographed the page and sent it to Nadia.
Then she sat on the floor beside the open cabinet.
For years, Vincent had said he trusted her more than anyone.
Now she understood another meaning beneath the words.
He trusted her to keep records.
To answer questions.
To be available when a signature was needed.
And, apparently, to remain standing where he left her when the truth finally arrived.
Grace closed the binder.
Then she called Ruth.
“He used my name.”
May you like
Ruth’s voice sharpened.
“Bring the original. We’re going to make sure it gets heard.”
