Chapter 6: Eleanor Voss Calls
Patricia had the signed statement from Finch by ten o'clock.
She read it twice, made two phone calls I wasn't present for, and then set it inside a document sleeve with the care of someone handling something that would matter for a long time.
My brother had gone upstairs to make sure Daniel's things were actually being moved.
I sat in the hotel business center with a cup of coffee I wasn't drinking.
At ten forty-three, my phone rang.
Unknown number.
Area code I didn't recognize.
I answered.
"Is this Nora Calloway?" The voice was a woman's.
Careful.
A little flat, the way voices get when someone is trying not to sound nervous.
"Yes."
"My name is Eleanor Voss."
I set the coffee cup down.
"How did you get this number?" I said.
"Harold gave it to me.
He called me twenty minutes ago.
He said—" A pause.
"He said things had changed and I should speak to you directly."
"All right."
"I want you to know that I didn't know what they were planning to do to you." Her voice tightened at the edges.
"I knew Daniel wanted the divorce delayed.
He told me it was a legal matter — something to do with an inheritance timeline on his side.
He said if I waited six months, the settlement would double.
I thought it was about his family's money.
I didn't know it was about yours."
"Did you know he was getting married?"
Silence.
"Eleanor."
"He told me it was a formality.
A business arrangement.
He said it wouldn't be a real marriage." Her breath caught.
"I know how that sounds."
"When did you find out the truth?"
"This morning.
When Harold called." Another pause.
"I have emails, Nora.
From Daniel.
From Margaret.
From Finch's assistant.
I kept everything because I didn't fully trust any of them.
I just — I didn't know what I was keeping it for until now."
Patricia had come in quietly and was standing at the door.
I looked at her and held up one finger.
"Eleanor, I need you to speak with my attorney.
Her name is Patricia Hale.
She's going to explain what we need and what it means for you.
Are you willing to do that?"
"Yes." The word came quickly.
"Yes, I am.
I want to — I need this to be over."
"So do I."
I handed the phone to Patricia.
She took it, walked to the far corner of the room, and began speaking in the low, precise tone she used when something important was being arranged.
I looked out the window at the hotel courtyard below.
The wedding flowers were still there — white arrangements along the stone path, slightly wilted now in the morning heat.
A hotel worker was beginning to take them down, moving methodically from one end to the other.
My brother appeared in the doorway behind Patricia.
"His bags are in the corridor," he said.
"He's asking to speak to you."
"No."
"He said five minutes."
"Tell him no."
My brother nodded.
He started to turn, then stopped.
"Nora.
Are you all right?"
I watched the worker lift another arrangement from its stand.
"Ask me again in a week," I said.
He almost smiled.
"Fair enough."
Patricia ended the call and crossed back to me.
"She has forty-three emails.
May you like
She's forwarding them now." She picked up her briefcase.
"We have more than enough."
