Chapter 7: The Room Where It Ended
The property management office where the closing was scheduled occupied the ground floor of a glass building on Water Street.
It had a reception desk, two conference rooms, and a waiting area with chairs that were too low to be comfortable.
Alison arrived at one fifty-three.
Detective Okafor was already inside, seated in the waiting area in plain clothes, reading a magazine she was not reading.
Gregory arrived at one fifty-eight.
He was wearing a jacket Alison had complimented once, early in their relationship.
He looked relaxed.
He kissed her on the cheek before she could step back.
"I'm glad you came," he said.
"I know this feels sudden.
But this is a good deal, Alison.
The money will give us a real start."
"A real start," she repeated.
"A house.
Something with a yard for Abigail." He smiled.
"I've been thinking about this for months.
I wanted to surprise you."
"You did surprise me."
Warren Schultz arrived at two o'clock exactly.
He was a broad man in his fifties with a firm handshake and a briefcase he set on the conference table before anyone had sat down.
He introduced himself to Alison and did not look at her twice.
He looked at Gregory.
"Everything in order?"
"Everything's in order," Gregory said.
Schultz opened the briefcase and removed a folder.
He slid it across the table toward Alison.
"Just need your signature on pages four, seven, and the final page," he said.
"Standard transfer documentation."
Alison looked at the folder but did not open it.
"Gregory," she said.
"I have a question before I sign anything."
"Of course." He was still smiling.
"What happened to the woman on Garfield Avenue?
Three years ago.
The apartment you sold without her knowledge."
The smile didn't disappear.
It froze.
"I don't know what you're talking about."
"Her name is Patricia Holt.
She's been looking for you for two years.
She found me instead." Alison opened her bag and placed a single printed page on the table.
It was Patricia's statement, signed and dated the night before.
"She recognized your photograph."
Gregory looked at the page.
He did not touch it.
Schultz had gone very still.
"This is a misunderstanding," Gregory said.
His voice was careful now.
Measured.
"Someone has been feeding you false information.
Christopher, I'm guessing.
He has never wanted you to move on."
"Christopher is outside," Alison said.
"So is Daniel Reyes.
And Detective Okafor is in the waiting room."
Gregory looked toward the door.
He looked back at Alison.
Something shifted behind his eyes.
The warmth left completely.
What remained was flat and calculating, and Alison understood that this was the real face — the one Abigail had seen in the dark beside the closet.
"You have nothing," he said quietly.
"A statement from a woman who can't prove anything.
A photograph.
You can't stop this sale."
"The title freeze stopped it," Alison said.
"Filed this morning.
The county recorder confirmed it at twelve-fifteen.
This transaction cannot proceed."
Schultz closed the briefcase.
"I'm done here," he said.
"Sit down," Gregory said sharply.
Schultz stood up.
Gregory's hand came down flat on the table.
"I said sit down.
We had an agreement.
You don't walk away from—"
The conference room door opened.
Detective Okafor stepped in.
Behind her were two uniformed officers.
"Mr.
Gregory Marsh," she said.
She used the name Patricia Holt had given.
"I'd like you to come with me."
Gregory looked at Alison one final time.
"You have no idea what you've done," he said.
"I know exactly what I've done," she said.
He was still talking when the officers reached him.
The words became noise.
Alison stopped hearing them.
She looked at the folder on the table — the contract with the yellow tabs, the pages waiting for a signature she was never going to give — and she pushed it back across the table toward the empty chair where Warren Schultz had been sitting.
Then she walked out of the conference room and into the waiting area and through the glass front door and into the afternoon light.
Christopher was leaning against his car across the street.
May you like
He didn't ask how it went.
He could see how it went.
