Chapter 7: The Morning After Christmas
I slept in the guest room.
Not because Marcus asked me to.
Because I needed walls around me that didn't carry seven years of history in every corner.
I lay awake until three in the morning listening to the house settle.
At some point, voices.
Arthur's, low and steady.
Patricia's, rising and then cutting off.
A door closing firmly.
Then silence.
I woke at seven to pale winter light coming through the curtains and my hand throbbing steadily under the bandage.
Daniel was already in the kitchen when I came downstairs.
He had made coffee and was standing at the window with a mug, looking out at the frost on the garden.
"She's gone," he said without turning around.
"Mum.
She left at six.
Took her overnight bag."
"Where?"
"Her sister's, probably.
She goes there when she needs to regroup." He turned.
He looked tired.
"Dad's still here.
He slept in the study."
I poured myself a coffee and sat at the table.
"How are you doing?" Daniel asked.
It was such a simple question.
Nobody had asked me that yet.
"I don't know," I said.
"I feel like I've been in a car crash and the adrenaline hasn't worn off yet."
He nodded.
He sat down across from me.
"Can I ask you something?" he said.
"Yes."
"The letter you wrote.
The one you gave Dad.
Did you mean it?
That you wanted to protect the family?"
I looked at my coffee.
"I meant it when I wrote it," I said.
"I'm not sure what I mean now.
Last night changed some things."
"Marcus?"
"Among others."
Daniel wrapped both hands around his mug.
"He's not a bad person, Emily.
I know that doesn't fix anything.
But I want you to know I don't think he's a bad person.
I think he's someone who learned a very long time ago that the easiest way to survive in this family was to not look too closely at things."
"I know," I said.
"That's almost the saddest part."
The kitchen door opened.
Arthur came in.
He was dressed, but he looked like a man who had not slept.
He went to the coffee pot without speaking, poured a cup, and sat at the head of the table.
The three of us sat in the quiet kitchen while the frost outside slowly thinned in the morning light.
"I'm going to call my solicitor today," Arthur said.
"And the business accountant.
There are things that need to be reported."
"Reported to whom?" Daniel asked.
Arthur looked at him steadily.
"To the appropriate authorities.
What your mother has been doing with the business account is not a family matter.
It's a legal one."
Daniel set his mug down.
"Dad—"
"I know," Arthur said.
"I know what I'm saying."
"She's your wife."
"She's also been taking money that belongs to this business for eighteen months.
Money that belongs to you as much as to anyone.
Money that your employees' salaries depend on." He looked at his hands.
"I am not doing this to punish her.
I am doing this because it is the right thing to do and because if I don't, someone else eventually will — and it will be worse."
The back door opened.
Marcus came in from the garden.
He was still in yesterday's clothes.
He had been outside in the cold without a coat.
His face was very pale.
He looked at me.
"She called me," he said.
"Twenty minutes ago.
From her sister's."
"What did she say?" Arthur asked.
Marcus pulled out a chair and sat down heavily.
"She said if we move forward with any of this — the solicitor, the accountant, any of it — she will tell people that Emily forged the property documents.
That Emily manipulated you." He looked at his father.
"She said she has a witness who will say Emily came to the solicitor's office alone."
The kitchen went very quiet.
"She's bluffing," Daniel said.
"Maybe," Marcus said.
"Maybe not.
She has friends in that firm.
She's known the senior partner for twenty years."
Arthur set his coffee cup down.
"The power of attorney is on file.
The notarized transfer is on file.
Emily's name appears on no instruction documents — only on the title itself, as beneficiary."
"Dad, she doesn't need the truth to be on her side.
She just needs enough doubt to make things complicated."
I looked at my bandaged hand on the table.
"Let her try," I said.
Everyone looked at me.
"I have the folder," I said.
"The original folder from the filing cabinet.
With the handwritten note from Arthur.
With the solicitor's letter.
With the dates." I looked at Marcus.
"And I have something else."
"What?" he said.
"The night of the surgery.
Four years ago.
When I signed the power of attorney." I looked at Arthur.
"The hospital has records.
Nurses' notes.
Visitor logs." I paused.
"Marcus was in Edinburgh.
Patricia came to the hospital that evening.
She was there when I signed.
I remember her standing at the foot of the bed."
Arthur went very still.
"She witnessed it," I said.
"She was in the room.
She knows exactly what that document was and what it was for.
If she claims the power of attorney was misused, she will have to explain why she watched me sign it and said nothing."
The silence in the kitchen stretched out.
Daniel let out a slow breath.
Marcus looked at me for a long moment.
Then he looked at his father.
"She was there," Arthur said quietly.
"I didn't know she'd come.
But yes.
She was there."
I picked up my coffee.
"Then let her make the call," I said.
Marcus reached across the table.
He didn't take my hand — he just rested his fingers near mine.
A question, not a statement.
I didn't move away.
But I didn't answer it either.
Not yet.
Arthur picked up his phone and dialed.
We listened to it ring twice.
"Graham," he said.
"It's Arthur Harland.
I need to see you today.
Yes.
All of it.
Bring someone who handles financial crjme." A pause.
"Thank you."
He set the phone down.
Outside, the last of the frost was gone.
The garden was just cold, bare ground now.
Clear.
Patricia called Marcus's phone again at half past eight.
May you like
He looked at the screen.
He pressed decline.
