Chapter 1 - The Woman They Had Already Packed
“Are you marrying her?”
Grant looked relieved that I had finally asked a question he had prepared to answer.
“Yes.”
One syllable. Six years.
Marjorie reached toward the settlement folder.
“Then we understand each other. Sign the agreement, Caroline. There’s no dignity in dragging this out.”
I looked at the brass suitcase key beside my untouched anniversary dinner.
Someone had tied a small white ribbon through its handle.
Denise did that when packing for guests.
For a moment, that ribbon hurt more than anything else in the room.
“Did Denise know why she was packing?”
Marjorie blinked. “What?”
“Did you tell our housekeeper she was helping throw me out?”
“That is a ridiculous way to describe—”
“Did she know?”
“No,” Grant said impatiently. “Mother told her you were taking a trip.”
I nodded.
Good.
There were people in that house who did not deserve to carry the shame of what happened there.
I closed the folder.
“I won’t be signing tonight.”
Grant leaned back.
“Carrie, we had an agreement before we married.”
“We had a prenuptial agreement. This is a proposed divorce settlement. They are different documents.”
Tessa stopped examining her manicure.
Marjorie’s lips thinned.
“The attorneys handled everything.”
“Whose attorneys?”
Grant’s patience began to unravel.
“Don’t turn this into some performance.”
I almost laughed.
They had brought an audience, packed my clothes, rehearsed their lines, and placed a key beside my plate.
But apparently I was the one performing.
I stood.
Grant watched me carefully.
“Where are you going?”
“Upstairs. To check what your mother considers mine.”
In our bedroom, my suitcase stood beside the bench where Grant always dropped his jackets. It was the navy case we had bought for our honeymoon.
The zipper strained around hastily folded clothing.
My jewelry box was missing.
So were my passport and the small wooden chest my father had made before his hands became too unsteady to work.
I opened the guest-room closet.
My winter coats hung in a compressed row. Beneath them sat the chest, my jewelry box, and a shopping bag containing my personal papers.
My passport lay on top.
At least Marjorie had been efficient.
I photographed everything before moving it.
Then I called the one person whose number I still knew without looking.
“Nina?”
Her voice sharpened immediately.
“What happened?”
“I need a room tonight. And tomorrow, I need you to be my attorney.”
Nina Patel and I had met in college, back when neither of us understood how useful friendship could become in a crisis.
“You have the room,” she said. “The attorney part starts now. Don’t sign anything.”
“I haven’t.”
“Good. Are you safe?”
I looked around the bedroom I had spent six years trying to make feel like home.
“Yes.”
“Do you need me there?”
“No. I need to leave while I still recognize myself.”
Downstairs, the three of them had resumed talking.
They stopped when I entered carrying my father’s chest.
Grant frowned.
“What’s that?”
“Something that belongs to me.”
“I wasn’t going to stop you taking your personal things.”
“How generous.”
His jaw tightened.
I placed the settlement folder in my tote.
“That stays here,” Marjorie said.
“It was offered to me.”
“It contains confidential information.”
“About my marriage. I’ll let my lawyer explain the distinction.”
Grant stood abruptly.
“You have a lawyer already?”
“I have a telephone, Grant. People remain reachable even when you stop noticing them.”
For the first time that evening, uncertainty crossed his face.
It lasted only a second.
Then he gave a weary smile.
“Please don’t spend half your settlement trying to punish me.”
I looked at the man I had once defended in rooms he had been too junior to enter.
“I’m not interested in punishing you.”
“Then be reasonable.”
“I intend to be.”
I picked up the brass key.
Marjorie seemed satisfied until I slipped it into my pocket instead of reaching for a pen.
Outside, the sprinklers swept silver arcs across the lawn.
My car was parked beneath the maple I had planted.
Before driving away, I sent one more message.
It went to Evelyn Shaw, Northstar Meridian’s independent board chair.
I need an urgent confidential discussion tomorrow regarding executive conduct, potential disclosure failures, and preservation of company records.
Her reply arrived before I reached the gate.
Eight o’clock. My office. Are you all right?
I stared at those last four words.
May you like
Then I answered honestly.
Not yet.
