The police cruiser.
The livestreaming phone.
Then she looked at Patricia.
“Mrs. Montgomery,” she said pleasantly, “I’m glad you’re all here.”
Patricia’s expression tightened.
“And who exactly are you?”
Victoria smiled.
“Madison’s attorney.”
Ryan went completely still.
Victoria placed her document case on the hood of her car.
“Before anyone carries another box,” she continued, “there’s something we need to discuss.”
Patricia rolled her eyes.
“We have nothing to discuss with you.”
Victoria opened the case.
“Actually, you do.”
She withdrew a document and held it where Ryan could see it.
His face drained of color.
I watched his eyes move from the paper to Victoria.
Then to me.
For the first time that day, my former husband looked genuinely frightened.
“Madison,” he whispered, “what did you do?”
I met his gaze.
“Nothing, Ryan.”
I paused.
“I found out what you did.”
And that was when his mother finally stopped shouting.
The folder in Victoria’s hand trembled only because a gust came down the driveway. Ryan stared at the page as though it had risen from a grave.
Patricia recovered first. “Whatever that is, my son has a right to his marital home.”
“Your son has just signed an agreement stating otherwise,” Victoria said. “What concerns me is a document submitted to Northbridge Capital seven months ago. It represents Madison as a guarantor and describes this property as available collateral for a Montgomery family investment.”
Vanessa stopped narrating into her phone. Behind her the livestream continued, capturing the low rumble of a moving truck and the scrape of a cardboard box across the sidewalk. I could hear my own pulse, but Victoria’s voice stayed perfectly level.
