The woman staring back is tired.
Shaking.
But not small.
At 8:10 a.m., Nathan calls Vivian.
She puts him on speaker with my permission.
“Where is my wife?” he demands.
“My client is safe,” Vivian says.
“My client?” Nathan laughs. “Caroline is my wife, not your client.”
“That sentence may explain much of your current problem.”
His breathing changes.
“Put her on.”
“No.”
“You don’t understand who you’re talking to.”
“I do,” Vivian says. “I’m talking to a man whose forged mortgage authorization was sent to the bank’s legal department six hours ago.”
Silence.
There are many kinds of silence.
This one is shaped like confession.
Nathan recovers quickly.
“Caroline knew about that. She approved everything.”
I almost speak.
Vivian raises one finger.
“The handwriting expert disagrees. So does the notarial date log. So will the bank’s camera footage if they preserved it as requested.”
Nathan’s voice drops.
“Tell her to be careful.”
“She is,” Vivian says. “That is why you are speaking to me.”
He hangs up.
At 9:00 a.m., Whitmore & Pierce announces Nathan is taking a temporary leave pending internal review.
Temporary.
Rich men use that word when they are still deciding whether truth can be buried.