Chapter 5 - The Woman at the Coffee Shop
Savannah contacted me three days later.
Her email contained no greeting.
Grant told me you agreed to the divorce months ago. I need to know whether anything he told me was true.
I read it in Nina’s kitchen while rain threaded down the windows.
Nina watched my face.
“You don’t owe her a meeting.”
“I know.”
“Do you want one?”
I thought about Denise describing the nursery measurements.
“Yes. Somewhere public.”
Savannah chose a coffee shop in Brookline.
She arrived early, wearing a raincoat that looked too light for the weather. Without the polished photographs from Northstar’s employee directory, she seemed younger than thirty-one.
I remained standing until she sat.
Neither of us ordered coffee.
“I won’t ask you to forgive me,” she said.
“Good.”
She swallowed.
“I knew he was married.”
I appreciated that she began there.
“He told me you were separated privately. That you were waiting until after an investment transaction to announce it.”
“Did you ever speak to me?”
“No.”
“Did it occur to you that might matter?”
“Yes.”
The answer came quietly.
“But believing him was easier.”
Outside, a man struggled to close an umbrella.
I watched him because looking at her required more energy than I wanted to spend.
Savannah folded her hands.
“He said you didn’t want children anymore.”
I turned back.
“That is not a conversation you get to have with me.”
Her face drained.
“I’m sorry.”
The silence stretched.
Then she took a phone from her bag.
“I came because of HarborLink.”
I did not touch it.
“Explain.”
“Grant asked me to introduce him to Miles Voss. Miles helped place HarborLink’s early financing. I knew him through a client.”
“What did you know about Tessa’s investment?”
“Nothing until last week.”
“What changed?”
“Miles sent me a draft announcement. It mentioned Bellweather as a strategic development partner. I asked Grant why his sister was involved.”
“And?”
“He told me family interests were being handled.”
She stared at her phone.
“Then yesterday he asked me to delete our personal messages from my work device. He said the preservation notice didn’t cover private conversations.”
I sat back.
“Did you?”
“No.”
“Have you spoken to your own lawyer?”
She shook her head.
“You should.”
“I thought maybe you could tell me—”
“I can’t advise you. And I’m not going to collect messages from you in a coffee shop.”
She looked startled.
I understood why.
Everyone around Grant had begun treating every conversation as a contest over who would hold the most damaging thing.
I had no intention of becoming another person who asked Savannah to hand over her judgment.
“Contact the review counsel,” I said. “Their information is in the preservation notice. Get independent advice first if you need it.”
Savannah put the phone away.
“I haven’t moved into your house.”
“Denise said you came to measure a room.”
“Marjorie told me you had already taken an apartment. She said you wanted the nursery furniture donated.”
“There was no nursery furniture.”
Savannah’s eyes filled.
I looked down at my untouched cup.
The child she carried had not chosen any of this.
Neither had the child I had lost.
But pity was not the same as absolution.
“I won’t make you feel better about what happened,” I said.
“I know.”
“And whatever Grant told you, you knew enough to ask harder questions.”
“I know that too.”
For the first time, I believed her.
When I stood, she spoke quickly.
“He’s afraid of someone.”
I paused.
“Who?”
“Miles.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know. But he called Grant last night. Afterward, Grant locked himself in the study and started throwing things.”
“Tell your lawyer.”
She nodded.
Outside, the rain had stopped.
By the time I reached my car, Nina had sent a photograph.
Marjorie had given an interview to a society blogger.
The headline described me as a bitter heiress trying to destroy the father of an unborn child.
Beneath it was a photograph from my wedding.
My smile looked almost impossible.
For a long moment, I studied the woman in that picture.
Then I called Nina.
May you like
“Preserve it,” I said.
“All of it.”
