Chapter 9: The Last Conversation
Julian called at nine that night.
I let it ring twice.
Then I answered and put it on speaker and set the phone on the kitchen counter and stood with my arms folded.
"You took everything from the unit," he said.
"Grace did.
With a court order."
"You found the emails."
"Yes."
A pause.
"Valerie, I need you to understand that the Crane-Altura agreement was never executed.
It was exploratory.
Peter and I discussed a lot of things that never went anywhere."
"You forged my signature on a refinancing document, Julian.
You transferred my lease to your LLC.
You had a four-year relationship with another woman that you funded with money stolen from my property." I kept my voice even.
"Don't talk to me about exploratory."
"I made mistakes." His voice shifted — the soft version again, the one he'd used Friday night before it didn't work.
"I made serious mistakes and I'm not going to pretend otherwise.
But destroying my career, my mother's reputation, going to federal prosecutors — that doesn't fix anything.
That just burns everything down."
"Your mother sat at a table with a fraudulent notary and my forged signature," I said.
"I didn't put her there."
Silence.
"She was trying to help me," he said finally.
"She thought—"
"Julian." I stopped him.
"I don't want to hear what she thought.
I want to tell you what's going to happen." I picked up the list Grace and I had gone over that afternoon.
"The criminal referral goes to the U.S.
Attorney's office on Friday.
Grace is also filing civil suits against you, Peter Crane, and Evelyn for fraud, forgery, and conspiracy.
The Hexa Group investigation is ongoing — Richard Holt's legal team has already requested the email records from NovaMind's server.
Dana Firth has agreed to provide a full statement."
Another silence.
Longer this time.
"What do you want?" Julian said.
His voice had changed again.
The softness was gone.
The calculation was gone.
What was left was something flatter.
"Tell me what you want and let's end this."
"I want the brownstone clear of all encumbrances.
I want the Crane Meridian funds traced and returned in full.
I want the flower shop lease restored to my name.
I want documentation of every asset you moved through that LLC for the past six years." I paused.
"And I want a divorce."
"And if I cooperate fully?
If I give Grace everything she's asking for?"
"That's a conversation between your attorney and mine."
"Valerie." His voice dropped.
"I did love you.
In the beginning.
I want you to know that."
I stood in my kitchen in my brownstone, the one I had bought myself, the one he had borrowed against without my knowledge, and I thought about what love looked like when it was real and what it looked like when it was a strategy.
"I know you think that's true," I said.
I ended the call.
I stood there for a moment in the quiet kitchen.
Then I texted Grace: *He called.
Offered to cooperate in exchange for consideration.
Your move.*
She replied: *Good.
Don't speak to him again without me present.*
I put the phone down.
I filled the kettle and put it on the stove and stood watching the blue flame underneath it, and I thought about the eucalyptus wreath on Dana Firth's door and the key that had been sitting in her drawer and the photograph of Evelyn at a restaurant table and the email from Peter Crane about the Altura situation and Julian's hand still outstretched in the air while Arthur walked past it.
The kettle began to hiss.
I made tea.
I sat down at the kitchen table — my table, in my house — and I drank it while it was still hot.
Upstairs, the bedroom was quiet.
Julian's side of the closet was already half-empty.
He had come by Sunday while I was at Arthur's and taken what he needed.
He hadn't left a note.
May you like
That was fine.
I didn't need a note.
