Chapter 4 — Put the Papers Down

Ethan put his palm flat on the agreement before Richard could take it.

“Leave it.”

Richard’s hand stopped an inch from his.

“This is a draft, Ethan. There’s no reason to turn an exploratory conversation into an accusation.”

“Then you won’t mind leaving the draft with the person you asked to sign it.”

The lawyer closed her briefcase.

“I think we should pause.”

“We’re finished,” I said.

Both men looked at me.

I picked up the agreement. Ethan lifted his hand immediately.

“I haven’t agreed to anything. I’ve already saved photographs of the relevant pages. If you have another proposal, send it to my lawyer.”

“You don’t have a lawyer,” Richard said.

“I will.”

For the first time since entering the room, I felt my knees hold properly beneath me.

Ethan moved aside, clearing my path to the door.

“Grace will find somewhere private for you to sit, if you’d like.”

“I’d rather stay long enough to hear the answer.”

His gaze settled on mine.

Then he turned back to his uncle.

“Why does this agreement require Claire to stop looking for Caleb?”

Richard straightened his cuffs.

“Because your brother made his position clear. Pursuing him through strangers will distress everyone involved.”

“Show me where he said that.”

“You have his message.”

“What message?” I asked.

Richard’s eyes flicked toward me.

Ethan noticed.

“The one you forwarded after he left,” he said. “From his number. Saying he wanted no further contact.”

“When?” I asked.

“Two days after your last message.”

The room seemed to shrink.

“Caleb said he’d come home the next day.”

“People change their minds,” Richard replied.

“You seem very certain about a man you haven’t seen in four years.”

His expression hardened.

Ethan took out his phone.

“Send me the original communication again. Not a screenshot. Whatever you received.”

“I’ll ask my office.”

“Today.”

Richard looked at the lawyer. She gave a small nod.

When they left, I realized I had been holding the agreement so tightly that the edge had cut into my thumb.

Ethan reached toward me, then stopped.

“You’re bleeding.”

“It’s a paper cut.”

“There are tissues beside you.”

I pressed one against my thumb.

He waited until the door had closed completely.

“What did he say before I arrived?”

I told him.

The money. The conditions. The complaint beside Richard’s folder. The warning about Lily’s welfare.

Ethan’s face went still.

“Did he say he would report you?”

“He didn’t need to use those words.”

“No.”

He looked toward the door.

“I told him about the test because I believed he might help.”

“I know.”

“I was wrong.”

“Yes.”

He accepted it.

That mattered more than another promise would have.

“I want an independent investigation,” I said. “Someone who doesn’t answer to your uncle.”

“I’ll arrange—”

“And someone who doesn’t have to protect you.”

He paused.

“All right.”

I set the agreement on the table.

“I also want my employment complaint handled separately. I answered it properly. I don’t want you calling downstairs and making it disappear.”

“I wasn’t going to make it disappear.”

“You were thinking about calling someone.”

A tired breath escaped him.

“Yes.”

“Then ask them to preserve the records. Let the actual process happen.”

He nodded.

“And I need a lawyer who represents me and Lily. Not the company. Not your family.”

“I can cover the cost.”

I looked at him.

“No conditions,” he added. “Your lawyer can put that in writing.”

I took a moment before answering.

“I’ll decide after I speak to someone.”

“Of course.”

By the end of the afternoon, I had called three offices, explained enough of the situation to check for conflicts, and chosen a lawyer named Maya Torres.

She had a blunt voice and no interest in reassuring me before reading the papers.

“Don’t sign anything,” she said. “Send me what you have. We’ll discuss representation tomorrow.”

It was the first uncomplicated instruction I had received all day.

I followed it.

Before leaving work, I returned to my desk and finished the reconciliation I had started that morning.

My supervisor stopped beside me.

“Are you all right?”

“Yes.”

“I understand there’s been some confusion.”

“I’ve sent HR my response. Please keep any further questions about my work in writing.”

He opened his mouth, then closed it.

I saved my spreadsheet and went to collect Lily.

She was waiting at daycare with a purple paint handprint drying beside her name.

“Can we show the man?”

“Which man?”

“The one with the blanket coat.”

I crouched to zip her jacket.

“Maybe another day.”

“Is he nice?”

I thought about his hand holding down the agreement.

“Yes,” I said. “I think he is.”

Ethan called after Lily had gone to bed.

“Maya asked me not to discuss legal decisions without her,” I told him.

“This isn’t a legal decision. I found the message.”

I sat at the kitchen table.

“Read it.”

He did.

“‘I have made alternative arrangements. Claire has been informed. Do not contact either of us. There is nothing further to discuss.’”

I looked toward the bedroom.

Lily’s night-light cast a small yellow patch across the hall.

“Read the second sentence again.”

“Claire has been informed.”

“No.”

“Claire?”

“He didn’t inform me of anything.”

“I know.”

“And he didn’t call me Claire in messages to people he knew.”

“What did he call you?”

“Clare. Without the ‘i.’ It started as a joke because he misspelled it on a birthday card. He kept doing it.”

“That could be an error.”

“Yes. And ‘alternative arrangements’ could be words he decided to use for the first time in his life.”

I stood and crossed to the cupboard above the refrigerator.

Inside an old biscuit tin were a birthday card, two photographs, and the paper copy of my missing-person report.

I photographed the card and sent it.

A moment later, Ethan said, “I see it.”

Clare, I promise the cake is less ugly than the handwriting.

I sat down again.

“This doesn’t prove someone else wrote the message,” I said. “But it gives us a reason to check.”

“Yes.”

“Was it sent to you?”

“No. Richard received it and forwarded it to me.”

“Why would Caleb tell your uncle I’d been informed?”

Ethan didn’t answer.

I opened the old text thread and searched for Westbridge.

There was one result.

Westbridge first. Then dinner. Don’t let me forget the bread.

Two days before he vanished.

I forwarded it.

On the other end of the line, something shifted against Ethan’s desk.

“What?” I asked.

“Richard oversaw Westbridge.”

I stared at the message.

The ordinary promise of bread. Dinner. A man expecting to come home.

“Then we start there,” I said.