Chapter 4: What Claire Remembered
Claire didn't say anything that night.
She helped her father to the guest room, brought him a glass of water, and sat with him until his breathing steadied.
Richard fell asleep in the chair by the window.
She turned off the lamp and pulled the door closed quietly behind her.
Ethan was still at the dining room table when she came back downstairs.
The laptop was open again.
He was watching the footage a second time.
"Ethan." She sat across from him.
"I need to tell you something."
He looked up.
His eyes were red at the edges.
"Three weeks ago," she said, "I came by to drop off Dad's birthday gift.
You weren't home.
Sophia answered the door." She paused.
"There was a man in the kitchen."
Ethan went still.
"She said he was a contractor.
Looking at the kitchen cabinets." Claire kept her voice even.
"But he wasn't measuring anything.
He was just standing there.
And when I walked in, he picked up a folder from the counter very quickly."
"What kind of folder?"
"I don't know.
I didn't see inside it.
But it had the name of a law firm on the cover." She watched her brother's face.
"Hartwell and Associates."
Ethan's chair scraped back from the table.
He stood up and walked to the kitchen doorway.
Stood there with his back to her for a moment.
"That's a family law firm," he said.
"I know."
He turned around.
"How long have you known what that firm does?"
"Since I looked it up on the drive home that day." Claire folded her hands on the table.
"I told myself I was being paranoid.
That there was a reasonable explanation." She paused.
"I should have told you then.
I'm sorry."
Ethan came back to the table.
He didn't sit.
He braced both hands on the back of the chair and looked at the ceiling for a moment.
"She was planning to leave," he said.
It wasn't a question.
"Or planning something that required a lawyer."
"There's a difference?"
Claire looked at him carefully.
"Ethan.
If she was only planning to leave, she wouldn't have needed to destroy Dad's reputation first."
The sentence landed.
He pulled the chair out and sat down heavily.
"She needed me angry at him," he said slowly.
"She needed me on her side before—" He stopped.
"Before what?"
"I don't know yet.
But I think it has something to do with the house."
Ethan looked up sharply.
"Dad's house," Claire said.
"The one he put in your name two years ago.
For estate planning." She kept her eyes on her brother.
"If Sophia could prove that Dad was violent — that he was a danger — and if she had already turned you against him—"
"She could push for him to be removed from the property entirely." Ethan's voice had gone flat.
"Or contest the transfer.
Or use it in a divorce settlement to claim I had grounds to cut him off."
"It would give her leverage.
Over the house.
Over you.
Over all of it."
The kitchen clock ticked.
Ethan stood up again, walked to the counter, and stood there with both palms flat on the surface.
His shoulders rose and fell once.
"Where is she now?"
"Upstairs.
I heard her on the phone about an hour ago." Claire paused.
"She was speaking quietly.
I couldn't hear the words."
Ethan picked up his own phone from the counter.
He opened his contacts.
Scrolled.
"What are you doing?" Claire asked.
"Calling someone who can tell me exactly what Hartwell and Associates was hired to do." He found the number.
His thumb hovered.
"And then I'm going to find out how far back this goes."
He pressed call.
Upstairs, a floorboard creaked.
May you like
Someone was standing just above the kitchen — directly over the spot where Ethan was standing.
Listening.
