Chapter 4: The Morning After
Owen ordered room service at nine with the easy confidence of a man who believed everything was still going according to plan.
He set the tray on the small table by the window — eggs, fruit, coffee for two — and pulled out my chair the way he always had.
Attentive.
Warm.
The version of Owen that had made me say yes before he finished asking.
"Big day," he said, sitting across from me.
"Checkout isn't until noon.
I thought we could take our time."
"That sounds nice."
He poured my coffee first.
He always poured mine first.
"I was thinking," he said, "we could go over the Savannah paperwork before we leave.
Just the last few signatures.
Get it finished so we can actually enjoy the place."
There it was.
"Of course," I said.
"Whatever you need."
He relaxed.
His shoulders dropped a fraction.
I watched it happen.
"Rebecca called me this morning," I said.
He looked up.
"Rebecca Sloan.
Dad's colleague.
She mentioned she'd left something in the suite last night — a wrap or something.
She's coming by at ten to collect it."
Owen's fork paused over his plate.
"I didn't know she was staying at the hotel."
"She wasn't.
She's nearby." I picked up my coffee.
"You don't mind, do you?
It'll only take a minute."
"Of course not." He smiled again.
But it was a different smile.
Smaller.
Recalculated.
He excused himself at nine-forty to make a call.
He went into the bathroom and ran the tap.
I sat at the table and listened to the muffled shape of his voice through the door.
I couldn't make out words.
I didn't need to.
Rebecca arrived at ten exactly.
She wore a charcoal blazer and carried a leather portfolio.
No wrap.
No pretense.
Owen came out of the bathroom and stopped when he saw her.
"Owen," she said pleasantly.
"I don't think we've been formally introduced.
I'm Rebecca Sloan.
I've been Daniel Bennett's attorney for nineteen years."
Something moved behind Owen's eyes.
"Right," he said.
"The colleague."
"Among other things." She set the portfolio on the table.
"I wonder if I could ask you a few questions about the Savannah property.
Just to make sure Mara's interests are properly protected going forward."
"That's really between Mara and me."
"It was," Rebecca said.
"Until last night."
Owen looked at me.
I looked back at him.
"Mara." His voice had shifted.
Still controlled, but the warmth was gone.
"What did you tell her?"
"She didn't need to tell me much," Rebecca said, before I could answer.
"The supplemental agreement Richard Hale drafted is fairly self-explanatory.
As is the LLC structure.
As is the signature practice on the back of the envelope you brought up last night."
Owen went very still.
"I'd like you to leave," he said.
"You're welcome to ask me to leave," Rebecca said.
"But the recording Mara made last night has already been filed with my office and copied to a secure server.
So leaving won't change what exists."
The room was quiet.
Owen turned to me.
His voice dropped.
"You recorded me."
"I recorded your mother," I said.
"You were on speaker."
"Mara—"
"She was lying on the floor under our bed, Owen.
She heard everything."
He sat down.
For a long moment he said nothing.
Then he looked at Rebecca.
"What do you want?"
"Right now?" Rebecca opened the portfolio.
"I want you to initial three things.
First, a letter acknowledging that the Savannah condo belongs to Mara Bennett free of any LLC claim or supplemental agreement.
Second, a statement confirming that no signature on any Mercer-related document was obtained under false representation.
Third, a hold on all joint accounts until full legal review is complete."
"And if I don't?"
Rebecca's expression didn't change.
"Then Daniel Bennett files a civil fraud complaint by end of business today, and Richard Hale's prior transactions with the Mercer family become part of the discovery record."
Owen's jaw tightened.
"You can't prove any of that."
"We don't have to prove it today," Rebecca said.
"We only have to file it.
And once it's filed, it becomes public record."
He stared at the portfolio.
Then he looked at me one more time.
Searching for something.
Doubt, maybe.
Or the version of me who had crawled under a bed as a joke and come out still believing in him.
That version was gone.
"I need to call my attorney," he said.
May you like
"Of course," Rebecca said.
"We'll wait."
