Chapter 6: Strickland
Strickland reached the table first.
He set a leather folder down and rested one hand on top of it — not opening it, just resting there, the way someone places a hand on a door to make clear they control who passes through.
"Mrs.
Harrison." His voice was professionally warm.
"I think it would be best if we moved this conversation somewhere more private."
"I'm comfortable here," Claire said.
"This is a hotel lobby.
There are people with cameras."
"Then Daniel should have thought about that before he carried a fraudulent document to an awards dinner."
Strickland's expression didn't change.
He was very good at that.
"The document is not fraudulent.
It was properly executed and notarized."
Patricia Wren looked up from her notepad.
"And you are?"
"Gerald Strickland, corporate counsel for Harrison Custom Homes."
"Patricia Wren." She didn't offer her hand.
"Estate and contract litigation.
And you're right that the document was notarized.
The question is whether the signatory was given adequate disclosure of its contents, or whether she was operating under manufactured urgency while managing a family medical crisis.
Those are two very different conversations."
Something moved behind Strickland's eyes.
He picked up the leather folder.
Daniel sat down across from Claire without being invited.
Lauren remained standing, two steps back, which was the first intelligent thing Claire had seen her do all evening.
"I want to resolve this," Daniel said.
He used the voice Claire had once thought of as his reasonable voice.
The one that preceded every decision that had already been made.
"I want to find a way forward that works for everyone."
"You want to find a way forward that works for you."
"Claire—"
"Don't." She set her hands flat on the table.
"Don't use the voice.
We've been married for twenty-two years.
I know every register."
His jaw shifted.
Strickland opened the folder.
"Mr.
Harrison is prepared to offer you a settlement.
In recognition of your contributions during the early years of the company—"
"My contributions." Claire looked at him.
"That's what we're calling them."
"— he is prepared to offer a lump sum payment of two hundred and fifty thousand dollars, in exchange for your agreement not to contest the ownership structure or pursue any further legal action related to the company."
Patricia wrote a number on her notepad and turned it toward Claire.
*Net worth of Harrison Custom Homes as of last filed year: $14.2M*
Claire looked at the number.
She looked at Strickland.
"Two hundred and fifty thousand."
"It's a generous offer given the legal standing of the document you—"
"My mother gave her life savings to keep that company alive." Claire's voice didn't rise.
That surprised her again.
"I sold jewelry to make payroll.
I answered phones from a folding table in our garage for three years.
Two hundred and fifty thousand dollars." She paused.
"That's not a settlement.
That's an insult with a comma in it."
Lauren made a small sound.
Daniel looked at her sharply.
"Lauren," he said.
One word.
A warning.
Lauren pressed her lips together.
Patricia spoke without looking up from her notes.
"My client will not be accepting any offer this evening.
If Mr.
Harrison wishes to pursue a resolution, he can do so through proper legal channels, beginning with a full disclosure of all documents related to the company restructuring, the financing application he represented to his wife as the basis for the October fourteenth agreement, and all communications between himself and Lauren Mitchell prior to her official hire date."
Strickland's hand stopped moving.
"That last part," Patricia said pleasantly, "is what I'd particularly like to see."
Daniel leaned forward.
For the first time that night, the careful expression dropped slightly, and something real showed through — not guilt, not remorse, but the look of a man recalculating.
"You don't know what you're getting into," he said.
"You don't know what this opens up."
"Then help me understand," Claire said.
"Tell me what it opens up."
He said nothing.
"That's what I thought."
Strickland was closing the folder.
Lauren had taken another step back and was looking at the floor.
And Daniel was looking at Claire the way he sometimes used to look at building plans when a wall had been placed somewhere he couldn't move — searching for another way through and not finding one.
His phone rang in his pocket.
He pulled it out, looked at the screen, and something crossed his face that Claire had never seen there before.
Fear.
He stood up from the table without another word and walked back toward the ballroom with the phone pressed to his ear.
Strickland followed.
Lauren stood alone for a moment.
Then she reached up and unclasped the pearls.
She set them on the table in front of Claire.
She didn't say anything.
She just walked away.
Claire looked down at the necklace — the small gray mark beside the clasp, exactly where her mother had pointed on the screen.
She pressed two fingers against it gently.
May you like
Ellie's hand closed over hers.
Across the lobby, Daniel's voice rose sharply once and then cut off.
