Chapter 3 - Coffee Before Sunrise
I did not move.
Upstairs, Patricia's voice dropped too low for me to understand.
Daniel answered.
Then silence.
The second will.
Robert had never mentioned one.
At five the next morning, Patricia knocked on the service-room door.
“Coffee.”
I opened my eyes.
She stood over me holding an empty silver tray.
“Excuse me?”
“My breakfast meeting starts at six-thirty.”
She placed the tray beside my mattress.
For a moment, I almost laughed.
Instead, I got up.
By six-fifteen, coffee was brewing.
At six-twenty, Patricia entered the kitchen and found me arranging cups.
“You learn quickly.”
“I've had practice.”
She didn't understand the remark.
Robert and I had built our first business from a rented office over a tire shop.
I'd made coffee for clients then, too.
I'd also kept the books.
Negotiated contracts.
Reviewed loan documents.
And bought my first investment property with money I'd earned before Patricia was old enough to drive.
But let her believe I was helpless.
Her mistake was becoming useful.
Two women arrived.
One was Patricia's interior designer.
The other introduced herself as Marissa Cole.
That name mattered.
It was on Robert's letter.
Not as a person.
As the registered agent for Blue Palm Holdings.
I nearly spilled the coffee.
Marissa looked at me without recognition.
Patricia said, “Eleanor, give us privacy.”
I walked away.
Then stopped around the corner.
Their voices carried.
“The account has to be closed,” Marissa said.
“Not yet.”
“Robert's attorney is looking.”
“Samuel can't prove anything.”
“What about Eleanor?”
Patricia laughed.
“Eleanor can't prove what day it is.”
My hand tightened around the tray.
Marissa lowered her voice.
“And Daniel?”
“He knows what he needs to know.”
That sentence was worse than a confession.
Because it left room for hope.
And hope, I was learning, could be cruel.
That afternoon Charles met me at a café.
He handed me the USB drive.
“Robert gave me this.”
“What's on it?”
“I don't know. He made me promise not to open it.”
I took it to Samuel.
The drive contained spreadsheets.
Transfers.
Invoices.
Corporate registrations.
And one audio file.
Robert's voice filled the conference room.
“If Ellie is hearing this, start with Blue Palm. Patricia thinks the money disappears after the third transfer. It doesn't.”
I covered my mouth.
Hearing him almost broke me.
The recording continued.
“Daniel signed two authorizations. I don't yet know whether he understood what they were. Don't assume the worst until you know.”
Even dead, Robert was protecting our son.
Or protecting me from condemning him too quickly.
Samuel traced the transfers.
Blue Palm had purchased a luxury condominium.
Title holder?
Marissa Cole.
Beneficial owner?
Hidden.
Then Samuel found the mortgage application.
Emergency contact: Patricia Hale.
I leaned back.
“She stole from the company.”
“It appears company funds were diverted.”
“And Daniel signed.”
“Yes.”
That evening, Sophie came into the service room carrying a blanket.
“You're freezing.”
“I've survived worse.”
“Grandpa wouldn't let this happen.”
“No.”
She sat beside Lucky.
“Dad and Mom are fighting.”
“About what?”
“Papers.”
My pulse quickened.
“What papers?”
“I don't know. Dad said Grandpa changed something.”
The second will.
“Did you see them?”
Sophie nodded.
“Mom put them in Dad's office safe.”
“Do you know the combination?”
She looked offended.
“Grandma.”
“I'm not asking you to steal.”
“You were thinking it.”
I smiled despite myself.
She leaned against me.
“Are you going to leave?”
“Eventually.”
“Can I visit you?”
“Anywhere I go.”
“Even if Mom says no?”
I looked at her.
“Yes.”
That night, Daniel came downstairs alone.
“Mom?”
I waited.
He entered the service room.
His eyes moved over the mattress.
The dog.
My folded clothes.
For the first time, shame seemed to reach him.
“I didn't know she was going to put you here.”
“But you left me here.”
He sat on a bucket.
“I messed up.”
“With what?”
His head snapped up.
I had pushed too quickly.
“Everything,” he said.
“Then start fixing something.”
“I don't know how.”
“Yes, you do.”
He rubbed his face.
“Dad didn't trust me.”
“Did you give him reasons not to?”
Silence.
“Patricia said he was controlling.”
“What do you say?”
Daniel looked toward the door.
“I don't know anymore.”
There was my son.
Buried beneath fear and cowardice.
Not innocent.
But perhaps not lost.
“Daniel, did you sign documents for Blue Palm Holdings?”
His face drained of color.
“How do you know that name?”
Before I could answer, footsteps approached.
Daniel stood.
Patricia appeared.
She looked at him.
Then at me.
“What is this?”
“Nothing,” Daniel said too quickly.
Patricia smiled.
“Good.”
She took his arm.
As they left, Daniel looked back at me.
His lips formed two silent words.
Room 814.
The same room number written on Robert's photograph.
The next morning, I went to the hotel.
Room 814 was occupied.
I knocked.
A woman opened the door.
She was the woman from Robert's photograph.
She stared at me.
“You're Eleanor.”
“Yes.”
Her eyes filled with fear.
“Robert said you'd come.”
Then she looked down the hallway.
Someone was approaching.
She grabbed my wrist.
May you like
“Get inside. Patricia can't know I'm alive.”
And before I could ask what she meant, the elevator doors opened.
