Chapter 7: Gerald Ashworth
I screenshot the message.
Sent it to Diane.
Then I sat down and waited.
She called back in four minutes.
"He contacted you directly?" Her voice had a new edge.
"Unknown number.
But he identified himself by name."
"Gerald Ashworth." I heard her typing.
"Family law, Miami-based.
He's been practicing for twenty-two years.
He's good." A pause.
"Do not call him back.
Do not respond to that message.
If he contacts you again, forward it to me immediately."
"How did he get my number?"
"Eleanor gave it to him.
Or Julian's phone at some point." A beat.
"Or she hired someone to find it.
I don't know yet.
But the fact that he reached out to you directly, today, while you're at a resort with the family — that tells me something."
"What does it tell you?"
"That Eleanor did not sign that agreement this morning because she accepted your terms.
She signed it to buy time." Diane's voice was measured and precise.
"She's still moving.
She's just moving more carefully now."
I looked at the signed sheet of hotel stationery on the coffee table.
"Then it's not worth the paper it's written on."
"It's worth something — it documents her acknowledgment of the situation.
But no, it is not a binding legal instrument.
You'd need a formal agreement drafted by counsel on both sides for it to hold." A pause.
"Which is exactly why she signed it so quickly."
I set the paper down.
Outside, the ocean moved the way it always moved — without any interest in what was happening in suite 1401.
"What do I do now?" I asked.
"You do nothing that looks like escalation.
You stay calm.
You stay in that suite as much as possible today.
You get me those screenshots from Julian's phone the moment he returns." She paused.
"And Genevieve — I need you to think carefully about one thing."
"What?"
"Julian.
Where does he actually stand?"
I thought about his face when he told his mother to stop.
I thought about the three messages on his phone that he had chosen to show me.
I thought about the account number he had given her two years ago, and the fact that he had told me about it this morning instead of pretending it had never happened.
"I think he's trying," I said.
"I think he's been in the middle of this for a long time and he's only just now choosing a side."
"That may be true," Diane said.
"But I need you to consider the possibility that he is still sharing information with her.
Not maliciously.
Out of habit.
Out of old loyalty.
People don't change direction overnight, even when they want to."
"I know."
"Be careful what you tell him until we know more."
"I understand."
"Good.
Call me when you have the screenshots."
I ended the call.
I sat in the quiet suite and thought about Julian downstairs at a breakfast table, sitting across from his mother, trying to look as if the morning had gone her way.
I thought about how good Eleanor was at reading people.
I thought about whether Julian was good enough at hiding things from her.
My phone buzzed again.
Julian this time.
*Mother wants to do a group beach activity this afternoon.
She suggested paddleboarding.
She's being very pleasant.
It's making me nervous.*
I almost smiled.
I typed back:
*Stay pleasant.
Come up in an hour.
Bring your phone.*
Three dots appeared.
Then:
*Is everything okay?*
I looked at Gerald Ashworth's message still open on my screen.
The unknown number.
The easy, confident tone.
*Mutual interests.*
*Getting there,* I typed.
*One hour.*
I set the phone down and picked up the hotel notepad.
I wrote three things:
1.
Screenshot Julian's thread with Eleanor.
2.
Call Diane.
3.
Joint account — move funds before Monday.
I underlined the third one twice.
Then I tore the page off the notepad, folded it once, and put it in my jacket pocket.
There was a knock at the door.
Not Julian's knock — Julian's knock was hesitant, almost apologetic now.
This was firm.
Deliberate.
I crossed the room and looked through the peephole.
Victoria.
She was alone.
No Raymond.
She was holding something — a small envelope, cream-colored, the kind the hotel used for handwritten notes.
I opened the door.
We looked at each other.
"I'm not here for Mother," she said.
Her voice was different from the dining room — quieter, stripped of its usual performance.
"Can I come in?"
I stepped aside.
She walked in and stopped in the middle of the room, the same spot Julian had stood in that morning.
She looked at the signed agreement on the coffee table.
She looked at the two water glasses.
She looked at the notepad on the desk — blank now, the written page in my pocket.
Then she held out the envelope.
"I found this in Mother's bag last night," she said.
"When she asked me to get her reading glasses."
I took it.
Inside was a single folded sheet.
A printed email.
The sender was Gerald Ashworth.
The date was three days ago — before we had even boarded the flights from Chicago.
The subject line read: *Re: Vance — Revised Asset Timeline.*
I read the first paragraph.
Then I read it again.
My hands were steady.
My voice, when I spoke, was very quiet.
"Victoria," I said.
"Why are you showing me this?"
She looked at the window.
At the ocean.
At everything except me.
"Because she told Raymond the same thing she told Julian," she said.
"That you were the problem.
That you made everyone feel small." She paused.
"But I was there yesterday in the lobby.
I took one of those photos.
I sent one of those laughing emojis." Her voice dropped.
"And I watched your face when you saw the notification."
The room was very quiet.
"I'm not asking you to forgive me," Victoria said.
"I'm just — " She stopped.
"I thought you should see it."
I looked at the email in my hand.
At the revised asset timeline.
At the date three days before we had left Chicago.
"Thank you," I said.
She nodded once.
She walked to the door.
"Victoria." She stopped but didn't turn.
"Does your mother know you found this?"
A pause.
"No," she said.
"She doesn't."
She left.
I stood in the middle of the suite holding the email.
Then I photographed it, front and back, and sent both images to Diane with a single message:
*Found in Eleanor's bag three days before the trip.
Her attorney's name is on it.*
Diane's reply came in under two minutes:
May you like
*Don't let that paper leave your possession.
We need to talk tonight.*
