Chapter 7: The Man Two Streets Over
Rafael called me twenty minutes after Bonnie left.
"Mrs.
Holt," he said, "I thought you should know.
There's a man who's been parked on Oleander Street since this morning.
He's been there through three gate rotations.
He's not a resident."
"Did you get a plate?"
"I did.
I ran it through the visitor log system.
The vehicle is registered to a man named Dennis Farrow."
I didn't recognize the name.
"Did he ask for anyone?"
"He asked for you," Rafael said.
"By name.
He said he was a friend of the family.
I told him I couldn't confirm residency information.
He said he'd wait."
I thanked Rafael and hung up.
Caden was in the kitchen.
I went to the doorway.
"Do you know someone named Dennis Farrow?" I asked.
He turned from the counter.
The name landed on his face like a stone dropping into still water.
"Where did you hear that name?" he said.
"He's been parked two streets over since this morning.
He told the gate manager he's a friend of the family."
Caden set down what he was holding.
"He's not a friend," he said.
"He's a private lender.
I borrowed money from him eighteen months ago."
The air in the room shifted.
"How much?" I said.
Caden didn't answer immediately.
"Caden.
How much?"
"Eighty thousand," he said.
"I needed it for a business deal.
It didn't work out the way I expected.
I've been paying the interest but I haven't touched the principal."
"You borrowed eighty thousand dollars from a private lender," I said slowly, "without telling me."
"I was going to pay it back before you found out."
"With what money?"
He didn't answer.
Because we both already knew.
The household accounts.
The cards.
The money that had been mine, flowing through a joint account he had access to, that I had never looked at closely enough because I had been too busy earning it.
"He's been calling me," Caden said.
"For the last three weeks.
I told him I was working on it."
"And your mother?" I said.
"Did she know?"
He looked at the floor.
"She introduced me to him," he said quietly.
I walked back to the sitting room and stood at the window.
Dennis Farrow's car was not visible from here, but I knew it was there.
Two streets over.
Waiting.
Bonnie had introduced her son to a private lender.
Caden had borrowed against a household that was funded entirely by me.
And neither of them had said a word.
My phone buzzed.
Unknown number.
I answered it.
"Mrs.
Holt." A man's voice.
Smooth and unhurried.
"I think it's time we met.
I've been very patient with your husband.
But I understand your circumstances have recently changed.
I think that changes our conversation."
"Mr.
Farrow," I said.
"If you have a debt claim, you'll need to submit it in writing to my attorney."
A pause.
Then: "That's a very formal response."
"It's the only one you're going to get," I said.
"Don't come to this gate again."
I ended the call.
I stood very still for a moment.
Then I called Constance Avery.
She picked up on the second ring.
"I need to know something," I said.
"The trust Gerald left — is any part of it accessible to a creditor claim against my husband?"
A brief silence.
Then: "No.
The trust transferred to you as a sole beneficiary.
Your husband has no legal interest in it whatsoever.
A creditor of his cannot touch it."
"And the mansion?"
"Solely in your name.
No joint tenancy.
No spousal claim under the deed."
I exhaled.
"Good," I said.
"Then I need you to draft a letter.
Tonight if possible.
I'll explain when I call back."
I hung up and turned around.
Caden was standing in the doorway.
"What are you going to do?" he said.
"I'm going to handle it," I said.
"But Caden — I need you to understand something.
I am handling it.
Not you.
Not your mother.
Me.
And when it's done, you and I are going to have a very long conversation about what honesty means in this marriage.
Do you understand?"
He nodded.
He looked smaller than I had ever seen him.
"Sit down," I said.
May you like
"And tell me everything.
From the beginning."
