The word landed so gently that Savannah blinked.
Margaret frowned.
She had expected tears.
Perhaps pleading.
Perhaps a glass thrown against the wall.
She wanted spectacle because spectacle would prove the story she had been telling Grant for months—that Evelyn was unstable, resentful, socially inadequate, and likely to become vindictive once she discovered the affair.
Evelyn gave her nothing.
Grant tugged the documents.
Evelyn released them.
“Where will you go?” Lauren asked without looking up from her phone.
Margaret answered.
“That is no longer our responsibility.”
Evelyn turned toward the rain-streaked windows.
“My suitcase is already outside?”
“Two,” Margaret said. “I had Rosa pack the essentials.”
“You had your housekeeper pack my clothes before Grant asked me for a divorce?”
Margaret’s smile held.
“We didn’t want an unpleasant scene.”
Evelyn nodded.
“And the rest of my belongings?”
“They can be collected later.”
“Under supervision,” Grant added.
There it was.
A miniature hearing conducted without a judge.
A guilty verdict delivered before the accused entered the room.
Evelyn rose.
She had chosen a navy dress that morning because Margaret once said dark colors made her disappear in photographs.
Now the dress felt like armor.
Grant stood too.
“You should leave your house key.”
Evelyn removed the brass key from her ring.
She placed it beside his wineglass.
Then she removed a second key.
The Manhattan apartment.
A third.
Grant’s vintage Porsche.
A fourth.
Harper Maritime’s executive offices.
Grant stared.
“You still have that?”
“You gave it to me when I worked overnight preparing the restructuring package that kept the company out of bankruptcy.”
“That was temporary.”
“Of course.”
She laid the key down.
Savannah’s gaze moved from Evelyn to Grant.
A slight crease formed between her brows.
Grant had probably described Evelyn as a dependent wife who spent her days choosing curtains and arranging flowers.
He had likely forgotten to mention the restructuring package.
He had forgotten many things.
Evelyn walked toward the doorway.
“Evelyn,” Charles said.
She paused.
His face had gone gray.
“Do you have somewhere to stay?”
Margaret’s fingers tightened around her napkin.
Evelyn looked at Charles for a long moment.
“Yes.”
It was not exactly true.
But it would be.
She crossed the foyer.
The ten-foot Christmas tree had already been installed near the curved staircase, though Thanksgiving had not ended. Gold ribbon spiraled through its branches. Boxes wrapped in ivory paper sat beneath it for decoration.
Evelyn had chosen every ornament during the first year of her marriage.
Margaret had later told guests Grant’s childhood decorator handled the entire design.
Rosa stood near the entrance, holding an umbrella.
Her dark eyes were wet.
“I am sorry, Mrs. Harper.”
Evelyn squeezed her hand.
“You have nothing to apologize for.”
Rosa looked toward the dining room.
“They told me only clothes. No medicine. No documents. No jewelry.”
“I know.”
“Your mother’s box is still upstairs.”
Evelyn’s breath caught.
A small cedar box containing her mother’s letters, photographs, and wedding ring.
The only things Evelyn had kept after the apartment fire that killed Claire Bennett eighteen years earlier.
“I will retrieve it,” she said.
“Mrs. Harper, they changed the code to the upstairs safe.”
That was not about divorce.
That was about theft.
Evelyn looked back toward the dining room.
Grant was pouring Savannah more wine.
A pregnant woman drinking red wine at dinner.
Interesting.
Evelyn turned to Rosa.
“Do not risk your job.”
Rosa’s lips trembled.
“This job is not worth much anymore.”
“Wait until Monday.”
Rosa’s expression changed.
She did not ask why.
She simply nodded.
Evelyn stepped outside.
One suitcase had been left beneath the covered portico.
The second sat in the rain.
Water had already darkened the leather.
Margaret had not placed Evelyn’s luggage on the porch to help her leave.
She had placed it there to make sure Evelyn understood she was disposable.
Grant appeared in the doorway while Savannah stood behind him, one hand resting dramatically against her flat stomach.
“Your car is around the side,” Grant said.
Evelyn looked toward the circular driveway.
Grant’s Porsche.
Margaret’s Mercedes.
Charles’s Range Rover.
Lauren’s new Bentley SUV, purchased two weeks after Evelyn loaned her fifteen thousand dollars to “make payroll.”
The Subaru was nowhere in sight.
“Where is my car?”
Grant rubbed the back of his neck.
“I traded it.”
“For what?”