Chapter 8 - Monday Morning
Warren arrived at our house at eight sharp, the way he always did when something needed handling before the workday caught up with everyone. He had a leather folder tucked under one arm and the look of a man who hadn't slept especially well.
I poured him coffee and we sat at the kitchen table.
"Renata Cross," he said. "I looked her up Sunday night. She's sharp — corporate and family law mostly. She's quietly settled three high-value divorce cases in the last two years."
"Ivy retained a divorce lawyer before the honeymoon even started."
"Technically a family law solicitor. But yes." He opened the folder. "Which means one of two things. Either she saw this confrontation coming and prepared in advance, or somebody advised her to move very fast right after the wedding."
"Or both," I said.
"Or both." He set a document on the table. "I also heard from the venue manager this morning. He got a call yesterday from someone claiming to represent the Sinclair family, asking whether any of Saturday night's security footage had been preserved or shared with anyone."
I looked up.
"He told them the footage was Bellmore Estate property and wouldn't be released without a formal written request. Then he called me directly, like you asked him to."
"Good man."
"There's one more thing." Warren flipped a page. "The call came from a mobile number registered to a Trent Sinclair. Ivy's brother."
I hadn't known she had one.
"Find out what you can about him," I said.
Preston arrived at nine, coming through the back door without knocking the way he had as a teenager, and stopped in the kitchen doorway, looking at Warren with an expression somewhere between recognition and something heavier.
"Warren," he said.
"Preston." Warren closed his folder. "I'll give you two a minute."
He carried his coffee into the sitting room. Preston sat down across from me. He had the look of a man who hadn't slept much — not disheveled, exactly, just worn through, like a coat left out in the rain.
"She called a solicitor," he said. "From the hotel room. Two hours after we checked in."
"I know."
"I was in the bathroom. When I came out she was on the phone, said it was her mother. But I heard the name Renata." He set both hands flat on the table. "I didn't know what to do, so I just went to bed."
I waited.
"She was still asleep when I left this morning," he said. "I didn't wake her up to tell her I was coming here."
"Does she know where you are right now?"
"No."
He glanced at the folder Warren had left on the table but didn't reach for it.
"Dad. What do you actually want to happen here?"
It was almost word for word what Evelyn had asked me in the car. I wondered if he knew that. I wondered if the two of them had always been more alike than either of them ever realized.
"I want you to be honest with me," I said. "That's all I want right now."
"About what?"
"The account access. The household accounts. When you gave her that access, did you ever once wonder what she was doing with it?"
He was quiet for a long moment. "There were months when the numbers didn't quite add up," he admitted. "I told myself I just wasn't tracking things closely enough. That I was too busy to check." He paused. "I think the truth is I didn't want to look."
"Why not?"
He stared down at his own hands. "Because I was afraid of what I might find."
That honesty cost him something. I could see it on his face.
"All right," I said. "So what does that mean going forward?"
"It means we start there." I stood and called through to the sitting room. "Warren. Come back in here."
Warren reappeared in the doorway.
"I want a complete picture of Larkspur Consulting," I said. "Not just the transfers — the full structure. Who benefits, who has signing authority, whether there are any other connected accounts." I looked at Preston. "And I want him involved at every single step of this."
Warren nodded. "I'll need a few days."
"Take them."
Preston looked at me. "And Renata Cross?"
"My lawyer will contact her today. We'll sit down, we'll listen to what she has to say, and then we'll decide together." I sat back down. "But Preston — no matter what her lawyer offers, no matter what explanation Ivy has ready, the security footage from Saturday still exists. The photographs of your mother's chair still exist. The transfer records still exist." I held his gaze steadily. "Evidence doesn't just disappear because somebody hires a lawyer."
He nodded slowly.
"One more thing," I said. "Your mother wants to see you."
He glanced toward the hallway, as though he'd only just remembered she was in the house at all.
"Is she—"
"She's in the garden. Has been since seven this morning."
He stood, straightened his jacket out of habit, and paused. "Dad. I'm sorry. For Saturday. For the door. For all of it."
"I know you are."
"That's not enough, I know."
"No," I agreed. "It isn't. But it's where you start."
He walked down the hallway toward the back door. I watched him go. Warren sat back down across from me and reopened his folder.
"How do you want to play this?" he asked.
May you like
I looked out the kitchen window. In the garden, Evelyn had looked up from her roses, watching Preston cross the lawn toward her. He stopped a few feet away. She didn't move. Then he said something I couldn't hear through the glass, and she opened her arms, and he walked into them like a man who'd been cold for a very long time.
"Carefully," I said. "We play this one very carefully."
