Chapter 7: Everything on the Table
My father was in the study when I came downstairs.
He had the cedar chest on the desk beside him and was lifting my mother's letters out one by one, stacking them with both hands as though they were fragile.
He looked up when I came in.
"Martin's on his way," he said.
"I know.
Dad, sit down.
I need to tell you something before he gets here."
He looked at my face.
Then he sat.
I told him everything.
Ruth's call.
The message my mother had left at Gerald's office.
The timeline.
The fact that Diane and Gerald had known each other years before she'd ever walked into our lives.
I told him slowly and clearly, because I needed him to hear it and not shut down.
He didn't speak while I talked.
He sat with his hands flat on the desk and his eyes fixed on a point just past my shoulder, and when I finished, the silence lasted a long time.
"She called Gerald," he said finally.
"Three days before."
"Yes."
"And your mother—" He stopped.
His hands pressed harder against the desk.
"She found something in this study."
"That's what she told Ruth.
Documents she didn't recognize.
Account access she couldn't explain."
He stood up abruptly and moved to the window, and I let him.
Some things need a moment and a wall of glass between you and the room.
"What do you want me to do?" he asked.
His voice was rough.
"Right now?
Nothing.
Martin handles it from here." I set the blue folder on the desk.
"But I need you to be honest with me about one thing."
He turned.
"Has Diane ever had access to your business accounts?
Any level.
Viewing.
Authorization.
Anything."
His jaw worked.
"She's on the household accounts.
Joint.
I added her two years into the marriage."
"What about the business side?"
A longer pause.
"She sometimes handled invoices.
When my assistant was on leave.
I gave her a temporary login."
"Did you revoke it when your assistant came back?"
He closed his eyes.
"Dad."
"I don't know," he said.
"I assumed it lapsed."
I picked up my phone and called Martin.
He answered on the first ring.
"How far out are you?"
"Twenty minutes.
What happened?"
"There's a witness.
A former employee of Gerald Holt.
Her name is Ruth Calloway.
She's prepared to make a full statement." I kept my voice level.
"She has documentation of contact between my mother and Gerald's office three days before the accident.
She can also place Diane and Gerald in a prior relationship going back at least two years before my mother d*ed."
Martin was quiet for three seconds.
"Ellie.
Is your father with you?"
"Yes."
"Tell him not to move anything from the study.
Not one paper.
I need the space exactly as it is." His voice had changed — sharper, faster.
"I'm also going to need him to authorize an immediate forensic review of his business account access logs.
Can he do that?"
I looked at my father.
"He can do that."
"Good.
Twenty minutes."
I put my phone down.
My father was watching me with an expression I'd never seen on him before — not exactly pride, not exactly sorrow.
Something between the two.
"When did you get like this?" he said quietly.
"Mom," I said.
And I left it there, because it was the only answer that was true and complete and didn't need anything added to it.
Forty minutes later, Martin Reeves sat at my father's desk with the blue folder, Ruth Calloway on speaker phone, and a yellow legal pad that was filling up fast.
And across the hallway, in the sitting room, Diane's door was closed.
It opened at eleven-fifteen.
She came into the study doorway in the same cream blouse and pearl earrings, her expression assembled and ready — and stopped when she saw Martin, the folder, the phone, and my father's face.
"Richard," she said carefully.
"I didn't know you had company."
Martin spoke before my father could.
"Mrs.
Holt-Calloway.
My name is Martin Reeves.
I'm Richard's legal counsel.
We're going to need to ask you a few questions."
Diane's gaze moved from Martin to me.
Then back.
"I'll call my own attorney first," she said.
"That's absolutely your right." Martin's voice was pleasantly neutral.
"We'll wait."
She turned.
She walked back to the sitting room.
The door closed.
Through the wall, faintly, we heard her voice begin.
Martin wrote something on his legal pad and underlined it twice.
May you like
I didn't ask what it said.
I didn't need to.
