Chapter 6: What She Kept Hidden and Why
Carol brought the soup to the guest room that first night and sat on the edge of the bed while Sarah ate.
She didn't ask questions.
She waited.
Sarah finished half the bowl.
She set it on the nightstand and looked at her hands.
"It's early stage," she said.
"Dr.
Reyes says the prognosis is good.
But I need to start treatment within the next few weeks."
Carol's face didn't collapse the way Sarah had expected it might.
She just nodded, slowly, the way she had nodded at their mother's kitchen table thirty years ago when their father had come home from his own doctor's appointment with news no one wanted.
"Okay," Carol said.
"Then we start."
"I didn't tell anyone because I needed to get through the surgery first.
If I had told Victor—"
"He would have used it," Carol said.
It wasn't a question.
"He would have told the doctors.
Made himself the concerned husband.
Possibly delayed the donation on medical grounds." Sarah paused.
"Or he would have used it later.
As leverage.
'She's sick, she's not thinking clearly, the transfer was made under duress.' Something like that."
Carol was quiet for a moment.
"So you protected the plan by protecting the secret."
"I protected myself," Sarah said.
"For the first time in a very long time."
Carol reached over and put her hand over Sarah's.
She didn't say anything.
She didn't need to.
The next morning, Sarah called Dr.
Reyes's office and scheduled her first treatment appointment for the following week.
She gave Carol's address.
Then she called Diane.
"He came to the house," Sarah said.
"I know.
I sent him the contact directive this morning.
Has he responded?"
"Not yet."
"He will," Diane said.
"He's going to retain someone.
Probably Marcus Hale — he's the attorney Victor has used for contentious property matters before.
Hale is aggressive.
He'll look for any angle to challenge the Newbury Street transfer."
"Can he find one?"
"The power of attorney was valid.
The transfer was clean.
But he'll argue incapacity, undue influence, or that the transfer was made in anticipation of divorce proceedings, which carries its own set of complications." Diane paused.
"Sarah, I have to ask you directly.
Were you planning to file for divorce when you made the transfer?"
Sarah considered the question carefully.
"I was planning to survive," she said.
"The divorce was a consequence of that, not the cause."
"Good.
Say exactly that if you're ever asked.
Don't elaborate."
"What's our strongest position?"
"The Brookline house was never his.
That's clean and simple.
The Newbury Street transfer is more complex, but the power of attorney was signed freely, years ago, with full legal counsel.
He gave it to you.
He trusted you with it." Diane let a beat pass.
"He just didn't expect you to use it."
"No," Sarah said.
"He didn't."
"I also want you to send me the photographs you took of the Brookline property."
Sarah paused.
"You know about those?"
"Teresa told me.
I called her this morning to introduce myself and let her know she might be contacted." A brief silence.
"She's on your side, Sarah.
Completely."
Sarah looked out Carol's kitchen window at the backyard.
A small vegetable garden, still bare in March, waiting for spring.
"Diane," she said.
"The fire.
I need to know where I stand."
Diane was quiet for three full seconds.
"The fire investigator's report listed the cause as an electrical fault.
The wiring in that house was original to 1987.
There were two prior inspection reports flagging the panel as a risk." Another pause.
"There is nothing in the report that points to anything other than that."
"And the photographs I took."
"Document the state of the property after the event.
They show damage, not cause." Diane's voice was measured and precise.
"Sarah.
I am your attorney.
I am telling you what the record shows.
The record shows an old house with old wiring that caught fire while unoccupied."
Sarah said nothing.
"Is there anything you want to tell me?" Diane asked.
A long pause.
"No," Sarah said.
"There isn't."
"Then we move forward." Diane's tone returned to its usual clarity.
"Hale will make contact within the week.
When he does, say nothing.
Send everything to me."
Sarah agreed and ended the call.
She sat at Carol's kitchen table for a while.
The morning light came through the window at a low angle, the way it did in early spring, not quite warm yet but trying.
Her phone buzzed.
A number she didn't recognize — not Victor, not Paul Greer's office.
She answered.
"Mrs.
Vance?" A man's voice.
Smooth, unhurried.
"My name is Marcus Hale.
I represent Victor Vance.
I was hoping we could speak briefly, just the two of us, before this becomes more complicated than it needs to be."
Sarah looked at the kitchen window.
"Mr.
Hale," she said.
"Please contact my attorney, Diane Holloway."
She ended the call.
Her phone buzzed again thirty seconds later.
A text from the same number.
*Mrs.
Vance — before you let this go to litigation, you should know that your husband is prepared to be very reasonable.
There are things about the Newbury Street transfer that could become very public and very uncomfortable.
I'd hate for that to happen to you while you're managing a health situation.*
Sarah read it twice.
He knew about the diagnosis.
She set the phone down on the table.
Her hand was completely steady.
Victor had told Hale.
Or Hale had found it another way.
Either way, they were going to use it.
She forwarded the text to Diane without a word and then picked up her soup bowl and rinsed it in the sink.
They thought the diagnosis made her weak.
They thought it gave them something to hold.
May you like
They had misread her from the beginning.
She saw no reason to correct them yet.
