Chapter 3: Everything She Said Was a Lie
Richard set Ethan gently on the sofa and pulled the throw blanket from the armrest.
He wrapped it around the boy's feet without looking away from Claudia.
"Burned his drawings," Richard said.
Not a question.
Ethan nodded.
His chin was trembling.
"The ones I made for Mommy.
She said they were ugly.
She put them in the fireplace."
Mark stood up from his chair.
"Ethan, that's not —"
"Sit down, Mark." Richard's voice didn't rise.
It didn't need to.
Mark sat again.
He looked like a man who had forgotten how to be in a room with his own father.
Claudia had recovered enough to cross her arms.
The fury was back, replacing the fear that had briefly shown itself when she saw the document.
"He's three years old," she said.
"He doesn't know what he's saying."
"He knows exactly what he's saying." Richard turned to face her fully.
"Children that age don't invent details like a fireplace.
They report what they saw."
"This is ridiculous.
You come into my home, you assault me, and now you're taking the word of a toddler over mine?"
"I'm taking the word of a toddler over yours," Richard said.
"Yes."
Claudia laughed — a short, sharp sound with no warmth in it.
"Mark.
Are you going to let your father speak to me this way?"
Mark looked at his hands.
"Mark." Her voice sharpened.
"Say something."
"What do you want me to say, Claudia?"
The question seemed to surprise her.
It surprised Richard too.
He looked at his son — really looked at him — for the first time since walking through the door.
Mark's face was pale.
There were shadows under his eyes that hadn't been there at Christmas.
His shirt was wrinkled in a way that suggested it had been slept in.
"When did you last eat a proper meal?" Richard asked him.
Mark blinked.
"What?"
"You heard me."
"Dad, that's not — this isn't about me."
"It's very much about you." Richard picked up the document from the coffee table and held it out.
"Read it."
Mark took it slowly.
His eyes moved across the page.
They stopped.
Moved back.
Stopped again.
"This is the original deed," Mark said.
"Yes."
"The house is in your name."
"Has been since I bought it.
Nineteen ninety-eight.
Your mother and I bought it together.
When she passed, it transferred to me alone." Richard paused.
"Claudia told you she bought it from me.
Told you she paid me two hundred and forty thousand pounds.
Is that right?"
Mark's jaw tightened.
"That's what she said."
"Show him the bank records," Claudia said suddenly.
Her voice was loud, too loud.
"Go on.
Show him.
I have records."
"I'm sure you do," Richard said.
"Fabricated ones are easy enough to produce.
The Land Registry is harder to argue with."
Claudia's mouth closed.
"I've already spoken to a solicitor," Richard continued.
"This morning, before I drove here.
He confirmed what I already knew.
No transfer was ever filed.
No sale was ever recorded.
The house is mine.
It has always been mine." He looked around the room slowly — at the new furniture, the expensive curtains, the wine rack along the far wall.
"And everything purchased with the money she claimed to have paid me — I'd like to know where that money actually came from."
The room went very quiet.
Ethan had fallen asleep against the sofa cushion, the blanket pulled up to his chin.
Mark set the document down on the table.
He didn't let go of it right away.
"Claudia," he said quietly.
"Where did the money come from?"
She didn't answer immediately.
When she did, her voice had changed — softer, more careful.
"Mark, sweetheart.
Your father is an old man who is confused and angry.
He sl@pped me.
In front of our son.
And now he's standing here making accusations with some document he could have had altered —"
"I asked you a question."
The softness dropped.
"Don't use that tone with me."
"Where did the money come from, Claudia?"
She picked up her wineglass from the floor — it hadn't shattered after all, only rolled — and set it on the mantelpiece.
A performance of calm.
"I want him out of this house," she said.
"Tonight.
Or I call the police and have him removed."
Richard reached into his coat pocket a second time.
He placed a small voice recorder on the coffee table beside the deed.
Claudia stared at it.
"That's from eleven months ago," Richard said.
"You and your sister.
May you like
In this room.
I think Mark should hear it."
