Meetings.
Indoor golf.
Dinner with friends.
Sleeping comfortably in their bedroom.
He did not call Claire.
Not once.
Ten days passed.
On the tenth morning, Daniel walked downstairs and noticed Claire’s mail sitting untouched on the hall table.
He frowned.
“Elena?”
The housekeeper appeared from the laundry room.
Daniel gestured toward the envelopes.
“Where has my wife been?”
Elena stopped folding the towel in her hands.
She had worked for the Mercers for fourteen years.
When Elena’s husband died, Claire had paid her daughter’s nursing-school tuition.
Now Elena looked directly at Daniel.
“Mrs. Mercer came back here six days ago.”
Daniel’s expression changed.
“What?”
“She packed.”
The color drained from his face.
Elena continued quietly.
“She also met with two attorneys, an accountant, and a locksmith.”
Daniel grabbed the edge of the console table.
“What did she take?”
Elena gave him the answer that finally brought him to his knees.
“Only what belonged to her.”
Then she placed an envelope in front of him.
“And, Mr. Mercer… the bank took care of the rest.”
Daniel ripped the envelope open so violently that it tore through the middle.
Inside was a formal notice from Hawthorne Private Bank.
His access to three joint investment accounts had been suspended pending legal review.
Daniel read the first page twice.
Then again.
“This is impossible.”
Elena said nothing.
