Chapter 6: The Things That Were Taken
They gave Cassandra two hours.
Daniel made the call himself — his house manager, a quiet man named Gerald who had worked there for six years and who received the instruction without a word of surprise.
Two staff members helped carry bags to a car that Cassandra called herself.
She didn't ask Daniel for anything.
She didn't speak to Evelyn again.
When the front door closed for the last time, the house felt different.
Not empty.
Something closer to the opposite of that.
Evelyn was in the kitchen.
Daniel had asked her three times if she was hungry and she had said no each time, so he had made tea without asking and she had accepted that without comment.
They sat at the kitchen table — not the formal dining room, the kitchen — and the tea steamed between them.
"How long?" he asked.
"Since about six months after you introduced her to me," Evelyn said.
"She came to my apartment the week after.
Said she wanted us to be close.
Said she knew how important family was to you." She wrapped both hands around her mug.
"She was very warm.
Very attentive.
I thought I had been wrong about her."
"What made you think you were wrong?"
"She brought me things.
Small things.
Groceries once, when I mentioned the market near me had closed.
A book she said reminded her of something I'd told her." Evelyn paused.
"She was good at listening.
Remembering details.
I thought that meant she cared."
"She was building a picture," Daniel said.
"Yes.
I understand that now." She looked at the mug.
"She asked questions about your childhood.
About your father.
About the years before the money.
I thought she was asking because she loved you and wanted to understand you better."
"What did you tell her?"
"Things a mother tells someone she trusts." Evelyn's voice didn't waver, but her hands tightened slightly around the mug.
"About the difficult years.
About the choices you made.
About the people who helped you and the people who didn't."
Daniel was quiet for a moment.
"The Mercer County situation."
"I mentioned it once.
I didn't know the details.
I only knew it had worried you at the time." She looked up at him.
"I'm sorry, Daniel.
I didn't know what she was collecting it for."
"Don't apologize."
"I feel responsible."
"She manipulated you.
That's on her." He set his cup down.
"She manipulated me too.
For two years."
Outside, a car passed on the street.
The kitchen was warm.
The clock above the stove read nearly nine.
"The apartment," Daniel said.
"Tell me about the apartment."
Evelyn was quiet for a moment.
"She came back four months after she told you about the threats.
The ones she said I'd made." She said it without bitterness — just the plain shape of it.
"She said she wanted to make sure I was comfortable.
That she felt terrible about the misunderstanding.
She brought flowers." A small pause.
"Lilies.
I don't like lilies.
She knew that.
I had told her once."
Daniel looked at her.
"I think she brought them on purpose," Evelyn said.
"To remind me that she knew things.
That she was paying attention." She set her mug down carefully.
"She told me that you were happy.
That the business was doing well.
That you had moved on and that the kindest thing I could do for you was to let you live your life without the complications of the past."
"She said that."
"Almost exactly that.
Yes."
"And you believed her?"
Evelyn looked at her son — really looked at him, the way she had looked at him when he was seven years old and had come home with a torn jacket and wouldn't tell her why.
"I believed that you were happy," she said.
"That part I believed.
Because I wanted it to be true." She reached across the table and put her hand over his.
"A mother will believe almost anything if it means her child is all right."
Daniel turned his hand over and held hers.
Neither of them spoke for a while.
Then he said, "I'm going to need you to talk to my attorney.
About everything she said to you.
Everything she asked.
The visits, the questions, the account she had you sign something for—"
Evelyn looked up sharply.
"The document," he said.
"Gerald found a copy in her files when he was packing.
A power of attorney form.
Partially completed.
Your name is on it."
The color shifted in Evelyn's face.
"She told me it was a medical release," she said quietly.
"In case something happened to me and you needed to make decisions quickly.
She said it was just a precaution."
May you like
Daniel's jaw tightened.
"It wasn't a medical release," he said.
