Part 3
It was a weak movement. It carried more anger than force.
Adrian stood.
“Leave the room.”
“You don’t have authority to order me out of my own bedroom.”
“Graham has the health-care proxy.”
Celeste stared at him.
Another lie. Graham did not have it. Adrian did not know who did.
“You signed it over?” she asked.
Her reaction gave him more than the truth would have.
Adrian opened the notebook to the page containing Graham’s name.
“What did you ask Graham to do, Dad?”
Harold closed his eyes.
His hand made a writing motion.
“Documents?”
One squeeze.
“Did Graham bring you documents?”
One squeeze.
“From Celeste?”
Harold hesitated.
One squeeze.
Celeste moved toward the door. “I’m calling our attorney.”
Adrian placed himself between her and the hallway.
“You can use my phone.”
She stopped.
“If you have nothing to hide, call in front of me.”
Her face became still.
Adrian had seen that expression in negotiations. It appeared when someone abandoned persuasion and began calculating survival.
“This is not a boardroom,” she said.
“No.”
His gaze moved to Harold’s untouched toast, the notebook, the missing phone.
“It’s worse.”
Graham waited in the foyer while Mara held a small ice pack against her mouth. He had found it in the kitchen after asking permission to leave her sight. She appreciated the formality even though it made her nervous.
He stood near the entrance with the tablet held in both hands, reading the household payment records Adrian had asked him to retrieve before they landed. Graham had served as Adrian’s executive aide for nine years. His dark suits, moderate voice, and apparent lack of personal needs had made him nearly invisible in rooms where everyone else competed for attention.
Mara had seen him once before, though she doubted he remembered.
Three months earlier, he had arrived to deliver a folder. Celeste met him in the elevator vestibule and did not let him cross the threshold. Mara had been inside Harold’s bedroom, helping him with speech exercises. She heard Graham ask whether Adrian knew Harold had signed the revised voting authorization.
Celeste had closed the outer door before answering.
Mara had thought about contacting him afterward. She found his office number online. She entered it into her phone and erased it three times.
She needed the job.
Northbridge paid nearly twice what she had earned at the rehabilitation center in Queens. Her mother’s mortgage was four months behind. Mara had promised herself she would stay only until the bank stopped sending letters in red envelopes.
Then Harold had written HELP on the back of a grocery receipt.
Mara had stayed for another reason and hated herself for how long it took to admit it.
Graham looked up from the tablet.
“May I ask you something?”
She lowered the ice pack.
“Yes.”
“Why did you apologize when Mr. Vale entered?”
Mara looked at the stained cloth in her lap.
“I don’t know.”
“That appeared practiced.”
She almost laughed. Her cut lip pulled painfully.
“Mrs. Vale likes apologies.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means things move faster when you give her one.”
“What happened with the cup?”
Mara glanced toward the upper gallery.
Graham waited.
“She told me to bring tea upstairs.”
“To Mr. Vale?”
“For herself.”
“What happened after that?”
“I said I needed to call his doctor.”
“Why?”
“He hadn’t been fully awake since breakfast.”
Graham’s fingers stopped over the tablet.
“Was that unusual?”
“Yes.”
“What had he taken?”
“I can’t discuss medication without authorization.”
“This may involve abuse.”
“It may also involve patient privacy.”
Graham studied her.
Mara looked away. She had learned to distrust people who seemed impressed by caution. Often they wanted the information more after being denied.
“She became angry,” Mara said. “Mrs. Vale. She said the doctor had already approved everything. I asked to see the written order.”
“And?”
“She threw the tea.”
“At you?”
“At the floor.”
“What cut your lip?”
Mara rubbed the edge of the ice pack.
“She pushed me.”
“With her hand?”
“Yes.”
“Where?”
“My shoulder. I fell against the console.”
Graham looked at the console table. One corner stood at the height of Mara’s mouth.
“She did not strike your face?”
“No.”
“Why did she say you forgot your place?”
“I told her she couldn’t give him another sedative until the doctor called.”
The words were barely out before Mara regretted them.
Graham entered something into the tablet.
“What?”
“Time, location, exact statement.”
“Are you a lawyer?”
“No.”
“You sound like one.”
“I spend most of my life preventing lawyers from becoming necessary.”
The answer held the dry shape of humor without asking her to laugh.
Footsteps sounded on the staircase.
Celeste descended first. Adrian followed with Harold’s notebook in one hand. He had removed his overcoat. Beneath it, his black suit looked too severe for the domestic room, as though he had arrived to conduct an audit at a funeral.
Graham’s posture altered slightly.
Adrian saw it.
“Why is your name in his notebook?”
Graham looked at the page.
“I don’t know.”
“Did you bring him documents?”
“Yes.”
Celeste continued toward the bar at the far end of the living room.
Adrian’s voice stopped her.
“Stay where I can see you.”
She turned. “I am not a prisoner.”
“Then you’re free to sit down.”
Celeste remained standing.
Adrian looked at Graham. “What documents?”
“A voting authorization and amendments to two family trusts.”
“Who asked you to bring them?”
“Mrs. Vale.”
“When?”
“September seventeenth.”
“Did you see him sign?”
Graham paused.
Mara watched Adrian’s expression change.
“No,” Graham said.
“Why not?”
“Mrs. Vale asked me to wait outside the bedroom.”
“You brought legal documents to a man recovering from a stroke and left before watching him sign.”
“Yes.”
“That isn’t like you.”
“No.”
Celeste spoke from near the bar. “He was following instructions.”
Adrian ignored her.
“Why did you do it?”
May you like
Graham locked the tablet and held it against his body.
“Your father had dismissed two attorneys in the prior month. He was refusing calls from the board. Mrs. Vale said the documents had been reviewed by independent counsel.”
