Chapter 12
Eve lifted one finger.
Wait.
Margaret came farther into the room.
“Before you perform for your father’s lawyers,” she said, “you need to think about the baby. Whatever happened today, Grant is still that child’s father.”
Eve did not blink.
“What did you tell Grant not to handle at the house?”
Margaret’s face tightened.
“I’m upset. I misspoke.”
“No,” Eve said. “You didn’t.”
Margaret looked at Daniel.
“You cannot record me without permission.”
“This is Arizona,” Daniel said mildly. “But Mrs. Whitaker is not recording you.”
Eve glanced at her cracked phone.
“Not with that one.”
Margaret took another step.
“Eve, you’re emotional. No one blames you. But if you turn this into a criminal case, you will destroy your son’s name before he’s born.”
“My son’s name is not Grant.”
“Blood matters.”
“Then you should have protected yours from becoming a felon.”
Margaret’s nostrils flared.
There she was.
The woman behind the Sunday smiles.
Eve had spent three years listening to Margaret speak in velvet insults.
Too much weight gain is hard on the knees, dear.
Grant needs peace at home, dear.
Powerful men need wives who don’t compete with them, dear.
A woman can win an argument and lose a marriage, dear.
Today, the dear was gone.
“You think your father can crush us?” Margaret said.
“No,” Eve said. “I think he already did.”
Margaret smiled.
“You have no idea what Grant signed before he married you.”
Daniel’s phone stopped halfway to his ear.
Eve looked at Margaret.
“What did he sign?”
Margaret realized too late she had said it.
The eighth mini-payoff.
Loose lips did what subpoenas took months to do.
She adjusted her purse strap.
“Nothing. I’m leaving.”
Daniel stepped in front of the door.
“You are welcome to leave after the officer outside speaks with you.”
Margaret’s eyes flashed.
“You have no authority.”
“No,” Daniel said. “But Scottsdale PD does.”
The officer appeared behind him.
Margaret’s face went pale.
Not enough to satisfy Eve.
But enough to remember.
As the officer escorted Margaret out, Eve called after her.
“Margaret.”
Grant’s mother stopped.
Eve’s voice stayed gentle.
“Was the waiver your idea?”
Margaret did not answer.
But her hand tightened around her purse.
The ninth mini-payoff.
Not confession.
Confirmation.
After she left, the room felt colder.
Daniel looked at Eve.
“You should rest.”
“I should do a lot of things. Rest is lower on the list.”
“You’re having mild contractions.”
“I’m aware.”
“Eve—”
“Don’t use my name like that unless you’re about to tell me the truth.”
He studied her.
Then he tapped the tablet twice.
“We think there is a trust.”
“What kind?”
“A prenatal inheritance trust tied to your son.”
Eve frowned.
“My father?”
“No. Your mother.”
The room went still.
Eve’s mother had left her jewelry, a Nantucket house, and shares placed in a marital protection trust.
At least, that was what Eve had always been told.
May you like
Daniel looked uncomfortable now.
That frightened her more than the documents.
