Chapter 9: Monday Morning
Renata filed the formal withdrawal at eight forty-seven a.m.
I was in my apartment in San Francisco, sitting at the kitchen table with coffee and my laptop, when she sent the confirmation.
I read it once.
Set the laptop aside.
Poured a second cup.
Marcus called at nine-fifteen.
"It's done," he said.
"The lenders have been notified.
I've already spoken to Ethan's CFO — a woman named Patricia Shen.
She's sharp.
She's already working on a restructure with a new co-signatory."
"Good."
"The draw will be delayed by about three weeks.
But it should fund."
"The employees will be okay?"
"Patricia thinks so.
She's been trying to get Ethan to restructure the co-signatory arrangement for months, apparently.
She seemed almost relieved."
I thought about that.
"Marcus.
Thank you for picking up on Saturday."
"Claire." His voice was warm and careful.
"I've known you for six years.
Of course I picked up."
I ended the call and sat for a while with the quiet.
My phone had been busy since Saturday evening.
My mother had called four times.
Friends.
A few colleagues who had been at the vineyard and wanted to know if I was all right.
I had answered most of them.
The ones I hadn't, I would.
Renata called at ten.
"Diane's footage surfaced," she said.
"Someone posted a thirty-second clip to a private Facebook group.
It's been taken down, but we have a screenshot of the post and a record of the account."
"Who posted it?"
"The account belongs to a woman named Greta Malone.
She's a lifestyle blogger.
She has a relationship with the same business paper Ethan uses for press."
"So it wasn't Diane who sent it."
"Diane sent it to Ethan.
Ethan sent it to Greta.
We have the metadata."
I set my coffee cup down.
"What are my options?"
"You have a strong case for unauthorized distribution of private footage under California Civil Code.
I can send a cease-and-desist to Greta Malone and to the paper today.
I can also send a formal notice to Ethan that any further distribution will result in civil action."
"Do all three."
"Already drafted.
I just needed your confirmation."
"You have it."
There was a brief pause.
"Claire," Renata said.
"He sent that footage on Saturday night.
While you were still at the vineyard."
I had thought I was past being surprised.
I found I wasn't, quite.
"While I was still there," I said.
"Yes."
I looked out the window at the street below.
A woman was walking a dog.
A man was unlocking a bicycle.
Ordinary Saturday-morning things happening on a Monday.
"Send everything," I said.
"I will."
I called my mother after that.
She answered on the first ring, the way she always did when she was worried.
"I'm fine," I said, before she could ask.
"You don't have to be fine yet."
"I know.
But I am."
She was quiet for a moment.
"The ring?" she said.
"I have it.
It's here."
I heard her exhale.
"Good," she said.
"That's the only thing I was actually worried about."
That made me smile.
My first real one since Saturday.
"Mom," I said.
"Tell me about Grandma.
Tell me something I don't know."
She laughed a little, surprised.
"Right now?"
"Right now."
And she did.
She told me about the time my grandmother had driven four hours alone in 1967 to confront a man who had cheated her husband in a land deal, and how she had walked into his office in her good coat and sat down across from him and said, very quietly, *You have one week to make this right or I will make it right for you.* And he had.
I listened to the whole story.
When she finished, I looked at the ring on the table beside my coffee cup.
The oval sapphire.
The small diamonds catching the morning light.
"She wore it for fifty-one years," I said.
"She did."
"I think I understand why."
May you like
My mother didn't say anything.
She didn't need to.
