her cheek.
“Yes.”
“Then rest.”
Clara tried.
But rest was difficult when years rearranged themselves in the dark.
She thought of every time Theo had called her forgetful after moving her keys. Every time he had said she was emotional after pushing her until she reacted. Every time he had praised her intelligence in public and questioned her sanity at home. She thought of Maren’s red dress and lowered smile. She thought of her father teaching her how to sand a doorframe slowly, with the grain, never against it.
“A rushed repair shows,” Samuel Mercer used to say.
So does a rushed forgery, Clara thought.
The next morning, she dressed in a black maternity dress, low shoes, and the pearl earrings her mother had worn in old photographs. Lena drove her to Ruth’s office and parked close to the entrance.
“Call me if you need me upstairs,” Lena said.
“I will.”
“No,” Lena said, looking at her hard. “Not the old Clara version of ‘I will,’ where you decide not to bother anyone. The real version.”
Clara smiled for the first time in two days.
“The real version.”
Ruth’s conference room overlooked a narrow street lined with winter trees. The table was polished dark wood. A glass pitcher of water sat in the center. Clara took the chair nearest the window and propped her swollen ankles on the chair beside her because Ruth told her to and because, for once, she did not feel obligated to make suffering look graceful.
A sealed envelope lay on the table.
At 10:07, Theo stormed in.
He wore the same charcoal suit from the dinner, now wrinkled at the sleeves. His hair was still damp, as if he had showered in a hurry. Maren followed him, pale under careful makeup, carrying a leather folder against her chest.
Theo did not sit.
He pointed at Clara.
“You are going to fix this.”
Ruth adjusted her glasses.
“Good morning, Mr. Voss.”
“Don’t perform manners at me,” Theo snapped. “My bank froze the review. My partners are calling. She has had her tantrum. Now she fixes it.”
Clara folded her hands over her belly.
“No. Today you explain why the deed packet has my dead father’s witness signature on it.”
The room changed.
Maren’s fingers tightened around her folder.
Theo went still for one fraction of a second, then laughed.
“This is absurd.”
Ruth slid the envelope forward.
“Before anyone speaks casually, you should know this meeting is being documented.”
Theo’s eyes narrowed. “By whom?”
“By my office, by the bank’s fraud department, and by Detective Hale, who is available next door.”
Maren inhaled sharply.
Theo looked at her, and that look was a command.
Clara saw Maren receive it.
For the first time, Clara wondered what Theo had promised her and what he had threatened to take away.
Ruth opened the envelope and removed the first document. She placed it on the table, turned toward Theo.
Samuel Mercer’s death certificate.
“The witness signature on your consent packet is dated April sixth of this year,” Ruth said. “Samuel Mercer died four years ago.”
Theo stared at the paper.
A muscle worked in his jaw.
“Clerical issue.”
Clara heard herself laugh once, quietly.
Theo’s eyes cut to her.
“Something funny?”
“You used to do better than that,” Clara
