the bank.
Then another to someone named Renee, who seemed to understand only from Eleanor’s first sentence that an investigator needed to be outside Paul Reade’s house before ten.
Mara sat on the sofa, stunned.
She had expected anger. She had expected lectures. She had expected Eleanor to be disappointed that Mara had allowed things to get so bad.
Instead, Eleanor moved as if Mara’s account had not been a confession but a battle plan.
At 8:41 p.m., Daniel called.
The phone rang loudly on the table.
Mara stared at his name.
For a second, she could not move. The habit of fear was still there, waiting for Denise to say she was too upset, waiting for someone to decide what she could handle.
Eleanor picked up the phone and placed it in Mara’s hand.
“Answer your husband.”
Mara did.
“Mara?” Daniel’s voice cracked with relief. “Thank God. Where are you? I’ve been calling for days. Your dad said you needed space. Denise said you were sleeping. I thought— Are you okay? Is Ella okay?”
Mara tried to say yes.
What came out was a sob.
Daniel went very still on the line. “What happened?”
She told him. Not everything, not in order, but enough. The Volvo. The stroller. The cold. The threats. The papers. Daniel listened, breathing hard, while wind roared faintly behind him on the other end.
“I’m coming home,” he said.
“The storm—”
“I don’t care if I have to drive from Anchorage to Chicago on a snowmobile.”
Despite everything, Mara almost laughed.
Then Simon Vale arrived.
Eleanor’s lawyer was thin, precise, and carrying a laptop bag dusted with snow. He removed his coat, greeted Mara gently, and set up at the dining table. Eleanor stood behind him. Mara sat nearby with Ella asleep in her arms and Daniel still on speaker.
Simon worked for nearly forty minutes without speaking much. The only sounds were keys clicking, the nurse washing bottles in the kitchen, and the low murmur of traffic far below.
Then Simon stopped.
“I found three documents,” he said.
Eleanor’s eyes narrowed. “Which three?”
“One medical authorization. One temporary financial agency agreement. And one petition draft that has not yet been filed.”
Mara’s mouth went dry. “Petition for what?”
Simon looked at Eleanor.
She said, “Tell her.”
“Temporary guardianship of Ella.”
The room seemed to tip.
Daniel swore softly through the phone.
Mara held Ella so close the baby stirred. “No.”
“It has not been filed,” Simon said quickly. “But the draft names Denise Reade as temporary guardian. It alleges that you are experiencing severe postpartum instability, that Daniel is unavailable, and that Denise has been acting as primary caregiver since birth.”
“That’s not true,” Mara said.
Her voice sounded distant to herself.
“I know,” Simon said.
“No, you don’t understand. She barely feeds her. She takes pictures holding her when people visit, but at night she closes her door. I’m the one—”
Her voice broke.
Eleanor crossed the room and sat beside her.
“We know,” she said. “And we will prove it.”
Simon turned the laptop so they could see the second problem.
Money.
Lines of transfers. Requests. Disbursements. Accounts. Mara did not understand all of it, but she recognized dates. One transfer had been approved three days after Ella’s birth. Another on the
