Claire walked to the table and picked up the statement from the condominium.
“Mom,” she said, “did you tell the broker I was sick?”
Olivia’s breath caught.
“What?”
“The email. It says you needed the house sold quickly because your daughter required long-term treatment.”
Claire’s hand began to shake.
“I’m not sick.”
“I didn’t mean it literally.”
“You used me.”
“I was trying to make him understand the urgency.”
“You used my name.”
Claire looked at her father.
“And you let her?”
Michael swallowed.
“I didn’t know.”
“But you didn’t ask.”
He lowered his head.
The room seemed to contract around them. The refrigerator hummed. Somewhere upstairs, a pipe clicked as it cooled.
Eleanor closed the metal box.
“Miriam is on her way.”
Olivia stared at her.
“You called your lawyer?”
“I called her before breakfast.”
“Why did you wait?”
“Because I wanted one chance for my son to stand beside me without being forced.”
Michael’s eyes filled.
Eleanor looked away.
She had wanted that too.
CHAPTER 3 – The Hearing
Miriam arrived twenty minutes later with a gray coat over one arm and a folder tucked against her chest. She was a compact woman in her sixties, with silver hair cut close to her jaw and the steady gaze of someone who had spent years listening to people lie badly.
