in the trust that neither Malcolm nor any spouse of Nora’s could override.
The guardian of the trust, in any emergency involving Nora’s capacity, would not be Marcus.
It would be Clara.
Unless Clara was incapacitated.
Clara looked up at Malcolm.
Now his face had changed completely.
There it was, beneath the polish and the tailored suit: panic.
Harrow opened his folder. ‘The petition your counsel drafted contains multiple false statements. We also have reason to believe private recordings were made in this residence without proper consent, and that Ms. Vale may have been pressured, medicated, or deliberately isolated. We will be seeking emergency protection before the close of business.’
Marcus stepped back. ‘I did not medicate anyone.’
Nora turned on him. ‘You switched my prenatal vitamins into an unmarked bottle.’
‘Because you kept forgetting them.’
‘You told my doctor I was hallucinating.’
‘You said you heard clicking in the walls.’
Nora pointed to the baby monitor on the shelf. ‘Because I did.’
Silence fell.
The small green light glowed between the books.
Clara walked to the shelf and picked up the monitor. A thin wire ran behind the cabinet and down through a hole drilled into the molding.
Her house had been listening to her daughter.
‘How many?’ Clara asked.
Marcus said nothing.
Malcolm said, ‘This has gone far enough.’
‘How many?’ Clara repeated.
Mrs. Alvarez answered from the doorway. ‘Six that I found, ma’am. Nursery, bedroom, sitting room, kitchen, study, and the hall outside Ms. Nora’s bathroom.’
Marcus stared at her. ‘You touched our things?’
Mrs. Alvarez looked at him with quiet contempt. ‘I dust everything.’
For the first time that day, Nora laughed. It broke halfway into a sob, but it was still a laugh, and Clara reached for her.
Malcolm lunged for the blue folder.
Clara moved faster.
She snatched it from beneath the quilt bag and held it against her chest.
‘Do not make yourself ridiculous,’ he hissed.
‘You have been doing that for both of us,’ she said.
His hand rose, not quite to strike her, but close enough that the entire room saw the instinct before he controlled it.
Harrow stepped between them.
‘Mr. Whitmore,’ he said, ‘I advise you to lower your hand.’
Malcolm lowered it.
But his eyes stayed on Clara with a hatred so intimate it felt like a second betrayal.
‘After everything I gave you,’ he said.
Clara almost laughed. ‘You gave me a house full of locked drawers.’
Nora’s voice came from beside her. ‘And he gave Marcus my father’s watch.’
Marcus’s hand moved toward his pocket.
Clara held out her palm. ‘Give it back.’
For a second, Marcus looked as if he might refuse. Then Harrow cleared his throat softly, and the sound carried the weight of every consequence waiting beyond that room.
Marcus removed the watch and placed it in Clara’s hand.
The gold was warm from his body.
Clara hated that.
She closed her fingers around it and felt, with a sudden ache, the faint dent on the case where her father had dropped it on the courthouse steps the day Clara passed her college entrance exams. He had been clapping too hard.
The memory steadied her.
‘Nora,’ Clara said, ‘pack what you need for tonight.’
Malcolm laughed coldly. ‘She is not leaving with you.’
