Then he turned to Rebecca, and his voice took on that polite cruelty she knew all too well.
"You don't have the strength for what comes next."
Rebecca's fingers trembled under the blanket.
But she didn't lower her gaze.
From the doorway, Detective Cole declared, "Attorney Whitaker disagrees."
Caleb turned his head.
The detective picked up her phone.
"He's downstairs with a court order."
The silence that followed wasn't empty. It was dense. It weighed on the glass, the screen, the sealed tea, Caleb's immaculate suit.
Rebecca felt her throat move.
For the first time, she swallowed her fear.
The door opened wider.
An elderly man, dressed in a gray coat, entered with a leather briefcase under his arm. The lawyer, Samuel Whitaker, had defended Rebecca's father for twenty-four years. His white hair was combed back, his glasses sat low on his nose, and his expression seemed frozen in the marble of the courtroom.
Behind him was Nora Bell.
The bottom of Nora's jeans was wet. One sleeve of her denim jacket was stained with dirt. In her gloved hand, she held a clear plastic container filled with tea bags, a small brown bottle, and a folded paper towel stained yellow.
Rebecca's eyes were burning.
Nora did not hurry to the bed. She stood upright, like a guard at a door.
"I found them," he said.
Caleb's voice grew harsher. "You had no right to enter my house."
Nora looked at him.
"It was never your home."
Attorney Whitaker opened the leather-bound file.
"That's correct."
Caleb's face darkened.
The lawyer took out a document and handed it to Detective Cole.
“Rebecca Ward is the sole owner of the Napa residence, the vineyard land, and the Montalvo family trust assets. Mr. Ward has no inheritance rights, title, or fiduciary powers.”
Vanessa had said she was ours.
Caleb had whispered mine to me.
Those two words hung in the air, like smoke after a fire.
Whitaker moved on.
"Eleven days ago, Ms. Ward signed an emergency protection transfer. Any unauthorized access to her private safe deposit box triggered an immediate notification to my office and the temporary freezing of her assets."
Caleb's lips parted slightly.
"What lock?"
The lawyer looked at him over the top of his glasses.
The residence, valued at $3.7 million, cannot be sold, mortgaged, accessed by unauthorized persons, or used as collateral. The vineyard's accounts are frozen. The trust has suspended the spouse's visitation rights for the duration of the investigation.
Caleb put his hand in his pocket.
Inspector Cole was observing the movements.
"Don't do it."
It stopped.
Rebecca knew exactly what she had caught.
Your phone.
Your bank alerts.
Their escape routes.
Whitaker slid another blank page open.
“Furthermore, Mr. Ward, Don Montalvo included a conditional clause in his last will and testament.”
Rebecca gasped.
She had seen the envelope in the camera footage, but had never read its full contents.
Caleb's gaze furtively shifted towards the door.
The security guard proceeded to completely block access.
Whitaker read in a calm voice.
"If my daughter's spouse attempts to access her, transfer her, hide her, poison her, coerce her, isolate her, or hasten her death for financial gain, all discretionary assets he previously possessed will be confiscated and all evidence will be turned over to law enforcement."
Nora's gloved hand gripped the container holding the evidence tightly.
Caleb said nothing.
His silence was uglier than any denial.
Rebecca watched him count the people in the room. Doctor. Detective. Security guard. Lawyer. Nora. Her.
There are no easy goals anymore.
Dr. Harris's pager vibrated once against his coat. He glanced at it, then looked at Detective Cole.
"The preliminary test results are back."
Caleb's face darkened.
Rebecca felt the blood rush to her ears.
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