Chapter 8: The Move Hargrove Didn't Expect
The next move came at seven in the morning, and it wasn't Hargrove.
It was Victoria.
She was standing on the pavement outside when Arthur opened the front door to collect the milk bottles — an old habit of his friend's that he had forgotten about — and she was alone, which surprised him.
No driver.
No coat suited to the weather.
She looked like someone who had left the house before she had finished deciding to.
"I need to talk to you," she said.
"This isn't my house."
"I know.
I followed you." She said it without apology, but also without the hardness she usually carried.
"Arthur, please."
He stepped back and held the door.
She came in and stood in the hallway, not moving further until he indicated the front room.
She sat on the edge of the sofa.
He stayed standing.
"My father called me last night," she said.
"After he spoke to you."
"What did he say?"
"He told me to find out what you had given to the investigators.
He said—" She stopped.
She looked at her hands.
"He said if I couldn't manage my own husband, he would manage it himself."
Arthur said nothing.
"I've heard him say that before," Victoria said.
"About other people.
I know what it means."
"Then you know why I can't step back from this."
"I'm not asking you to." She looked up.
Her eyes were dry, but only just.
"I'm asking you to understand that I didn't know.
About the children's money.
About what he did to Claire." A pause.
"About what he may have done to make her sick."
"May have."
"I don't know that for certain.
I don't want to know it and find out it's true." Her voice didn't waver, but it thinned.
"He's my father."
"He's also the reason those two children have nothing."
"I know that." She stood abruptly, as if sitting still had become impossible.
"I hjt Ethan.
I know what I did.
I'm not here to excuse it." She turned to face him.
"I'm here because my father is going to do something worse than threaten you, and I think you already know that, and I think you need to know that I won't—" She stopped again.
"I won't protect him.
If someone asks me formally what I know, I'll say it."
The room was quiet.
"What do you know, Victoria?"
She was still for a long moment.
"I know that Daniel Frey has been reporting to my father for at least five years.
I know my father has a property in the Channel Islands that isn't registered in his name.
And I know that eight months ago, my father had a meeting with someone from Claire's medical team." She said the last sentence carefully, the way you say something you have been carrying for a long time and are only now setting down.
"I don't know what was said.
I only know it happened because I saw the appointment in his diary and I asked him about it and he told me it was none of my concern."
Arthur looked at her for a long time.
"You'll say all of that formally?"
"Yes."
"To Grace Ellison's team."
Victoria blinked.
"You already have someone."
"Claire made sure I would."
Something moved across Victoria's face — not quite grief, not quite relief.
Something between them.
"She was always smarter than anyone gave her credit for," Victoria said quietly.
"Yes," Arthur said.
"She was."
He called Grace at seven-forty.
By eight-fifteen, two members of her team were at the door.
Victoria gave her statement at the kitchen table, methodically and without being prompted, while Arthur waited in the hallway.
When it was done, she came out and stood in front of him.
"The children," she said.
"I want to—" She stopped.
"I don't expect forgiveness.
I just want you to know I understand what I did."
"Tell Ethan that," Arthur said.
"Not me."
She nodded once.
She picked up her bag.
At the door she paused.
"My father is going to move the Channel Islands assets today," she said.
"If your investigator doesn't already have a hold on them, she needs one before noon."
Arthur had his phone out before the door closed.
Grace answered on the first ring.
"The Channel Islands," Arthur said.
"He's going to move them today."
"We already have the hold," Grace said.
"Since six this morning." A pause.
"Arthur — we executed the warrant on Frey's offices twenty minutes ago."
He leaned against the wall.
"And Hargrove?"
"By end of day," Grace said.
"We're waiting on one signature."
He stood in the hallway of someone else's house, holding a phone, and felt the long weight of the last forty-eight hours settle into something that was almost stillness.
"Call me when it's done," he said.
"I will," Grace said.
And then, quieter: "She would be glad it was you."
He put the phone in his pocket.
Down the hall, he could hear Maya and Ethan moving around in the kitchen, the ordinary sound of two children starting a morning.
A cupboard opening.
A chair scraping.
May you like
Ethan saying something low, Maya answering.
He stayed where he was for a moment and just listened to it.
