Clara,” he said, checking his gold wrist watch with a quick flick of his sleeve. “You should be resting inside. Standing in a drafty garage is hardly beneficial for your condition.”
“Samantha Drake came to my table at the cafe today,” I said.
Gabriel did not blink. He set his briefcase down on the hood of his car, the metal latch making a dull clink against the paint.
“Samantha is a highly qualified financial consultant,” Gabriel said, his voice dropping into that formal, measured tone he used when he wanted to make me feel small. “She handles the administrative restructuring of my corporate accounts. There is absolutely nothing unusual about her contacting you regarding our pending adjustments.”
“She told me my marriage was past its expiration date, Gabriel.”
He adjusted the cuffs of his shirt, his fingers lingering on his gold watch for a second before he looked up at me.
“Samantha is direct,” he said. “Perhaps overly so. But you must understand that the business is facing significant headwinds, Clara. We are making necessary structural changes to protect what remains of the estate.”
“Does protecting the estate mean sending Violet away?” I asked.
“Eleanor is her aunt,” Gabriel said, his voice tightening just a fraction. “We have already discussed this. Now, if you will excuse me, I have several phone calls to return before dinner.”
He picked up his briefcase and walked toward the kitchen entry door, leaving me alone with the drip of melting snow from his car’s wheel wells.
Arthur Vance’s office was located between a dry cleaner and a vacuum repair shop in a faded suburban strip mall. The radiator in the corner of his waiting room let out a steady, rhythmic hiss that sounded like a wet finger rubbing the rim of a glass. Arthur sat behind a desk piled high with manila folders, his grey hair standing up in untidy tufts where he had been running his fingers through it.
He rubbed his temples as he looked over the bank statements I had brought him, his slow, dry drawl cutting through the warmth of the small room.
“It is worse than a simple drop in the savings balance, Clara,” Arthur said.
He slid a document across the desk, pointing to a line of text near the bottom with the eraser end of a yellow pencil.
“Three weeks ago, your husband formed a new corporate entity registered in Delaware,” Arthur said. “It is called Crestview Enterprise.”
“I have never heard him mention that name,” I said.
“You wouldn’t have,” Arthur said, leaning back in his squeaking leather chair. “The sole officers listed are Gabriel Linwood and Samantha Drake. And according to these mortgage filings from the county recorder, Gabriel has just taken out a significant line of credit against your marital home.”
My hand went to my stomach, the fabric of my sweater suddenly feeling very thin.
“The house is in both of our names,” I said.
“He used a power of attorney you signed three years ago when you were in the hospital,” Arthur said. “He is leveraging the property to fund Crestview. If that company fails, or if he moves those funds where we cannot reach them, the bank will foreclose on your home.”
