Chapter 6: Karen's Last Move
She appeared in the study doorway still in her robe, hair loose, eyes moving immediately to what my father was holding.
She saw the USB drive.
Her face went absolutely still.
"What is that?" she said.
My father closed his hand around it.
"Something Claire left."
"That's not—" She stopped.
Started again.
"Where did you find that?"
"In this house," he said.
"Where she left it."
Karen stepped into the room.
Her voice shifted into something softer, more careful.
"Daniel.
Before you do anything with that, I need you to listen to me.
Whatever is on there — whatever she thought she was documenting — there is context you don't have.
There are things she misunderstood."
"What did she misunderstand?"
"The transfers.
They weren't — it's not what it looks like.
Rowan was helping me manage a debt I had before we met.
It was personal.
It was embarrassing.
I didn't tell you because I didn't want you to think less of me."
"You used our son's education fund to pay a personal debt."
"It was temporary.
I was going to replace it."
"Over eighteen months."
"Daniel—"
"Over eighteen months," he said again.
"While my wife was dying."
Karen's jaw tightened.
"You don't understand the position I was in."
"Then explain it to me."
She looked at the USB drive in his closed fist.
Then she looked at me.
"Not in front of the child," she said.
"His name is Noah," Grandma said from behind her.
"You have lived in this house for two years and you have never once called him by his name."
Karen turned.
"I am not doing this with you."
"No," Grandma said.
"You're not.
Because there is nothing left to do." She looked at my father.
"Call Grace.
Right now.
Before anything else."
"Who is Grace?" Karen asked.
My father was already reaching for his phone.
"My sister," Grandma said.
"She's a family law attorney.
She's been waiting for my call since last night."
Karen's posture changed.
The softness left her voice entirely.
"You planned this," she said.
"You came here with police and a lawyer already waiting—"
"I came here because a seven-year-old boy called me from a balcony in January," Grandma said.
"Everything else followed from that."
Karen looked at my father.
He had the phone to his ear.
"If you do this," she said quietly, "I will make it complicated.
I will make it slow.
I will contest everything and it will cost you more than whatever is on that drive."
My father lowered the phone for just a moment.
"Grace," he said into it, "she just made a threat.
I want you to hear the rest of this." He put the call on speaker and set the phone on the desk.
Karen stared at it.
A woman's voice came through clearly.
"I'm here, Daniel.
Karen, anything you say from this point forward may be relevant to proceedings.
I'd strongly recommend you stop talking and call your own attorney."
The room was silent.
Karen looked at the phone.
At my father.
At the USB drive.
Then she looked at me.
Whatever she was searching for in my face, she didn't find it.
She turned and walked back down the hall.
Her bedroom door didn't slam.
It clicked shut.
May you like
Quietly.
That was almost worse.
