Chapter 7: What Margaret Said
I almost didn't answer.
I stood on the sidewalk outside Grace's building while the city moved around me, watching her name on the screen, and I thought about the silk robe.
The smirk at the door.
*A woman of his own caliber.*
I answered.
"Margaret."
"Claire." Her voice was different.
The performance was gone.
What was left underneath sounded older and more tired than I had ever heard her.
"I need to speak with you."
"You're speaking with me now."
A pause.
"Not like this.
In person."
"I don't think that's necessary."
"Please." The word came out stiffly, like it had cost her something to locate it.
"I know what I said last night.
I know what I've said for years.
I'm not calling to argue.
I'm calling because I found something this morning that I think you need to see."
I watched a cab cut across two lanes of traffic.
"What did you find?"
"Documents.
In Ethan's desk.
The one in the study — the one he always kept locked." Her voice dropped slightly.
"He left in a hurry this morning after the legal team came.
He forgot his keys on the kitchen counter."
"What kind of documents?"
"I don't know all of it.
But there's a folder with your company's name on it.
And there are papers with numbers on them that I don't understand.
And there's—" She stopped.
"There's a letter, Claire.
With my name on it.
He wrote me a letter."
"What does it say?"
Silence.
"Margaret."
"It says—" Her voice broke on the first word and she stopped and started again.
"It says that once everything was finalized, he was planning to move to Austin permanently.
With Chloe.
And that I should—" Another stop.
"That I should use the money he was setting aside to find somewhere smaller to live.
That River Oaks was always going to be temporary."
I stood very still.
"He was going to leave you too," I said.
She didn't answer.
She didn't need to.
"He told me for years that you were the problem," she said finally.
"That you were cold.
That you were withholding.
That the only reason he stayed was out of loyalty and that you were slowly draining everything out of him." Her voice had gone flat.
"I believed him.
I wanted to believe him.
He's my son."
"I know."
"I said terrible things to you."
"Yes.
You did."
"I'm not asking you to forgive me." Her voice was careful now, precise.
"I'm asking if you want these documents.
Because if what I'm looking at means what I think it means, you should have them."
"Don't touch anything else in that desk," I said.
"I'm sending Marcus back to the property this afternoon.
You can hand the folder directly to him."
"All right."
"Margaret." I paused.
"The letter he wrote you.
Keep that one."
A long silence.
"Why?"
"Because you should know exactly who your son is.
Not the version he performed for you.
The actual person."
She didn't respond for a moment.
Then: "He called me this morning.
Before the legal team arrived.
He asked me to tell them I owned the property.
That I had paid for it years ago.
He wanted me to lie for him."
"What did you tell him?"
"I told him I would." Her voice was flat.
"And then I hung up and I didn't."
I exhaled slowly.
"Send Marcus the folder," I said.
"All of it."
I ended the call and stood on the sidewalk for another moment.
Then I called Daniel.
"Get me a car.
And call Grace — tell her to expect a second delivery of documents from the River Oaks property by end of day."
"Understood.
Also—" Daniel hesitated.
"Ethan just showed up at the Sterling Crest lobby, ma'am.
May you like
He's asking to see you.
He says it's personal."
