Chapter 7 - The Other Woman's Name|
The Wednesday closing did not happen.
By Thursday, Naomi had learned that stopping a signature did not stop the telephone from ringing.
She silenced hers while June showed her how to repair the torn hinge of an old cookbook.
“Too much glue makes it worse,” her aunt said.
Naomi adjusted the small brush.
She had spent summers working at this bench before the family quarrel, and the movements returned more readily than she expected.
June offered her three paid afternoons a week sorting commissions and handling simple repairs.
They wrote down the hours and the rate.
Naomi nearly protested that she was already sleeping upstairs.
June tapped the paper.
“The room is help.”
She indicated the waiting books.
“This is work.”
That afternoon, Mara called with an unusual request.
Serena Vale wanted to speak with them.
“She has her own lawyer,” Mara said.
“You don't have to agree.”
Naomi looked at the thread stretched across the bench.
“Does she have information?”
“She says she does.”
They met the following morning in a conference room with no windows onto the street.
Serena wore a gray sweater and carried a canvas bag.
Naomi recognized her anyway.
She had seen photographs before the engagement, then listened when Duly explained that old connections could be difficult to disentangle.
Serena sat opposite her.
For several seconds, both women studied the pitcher of water between them.
“I knew you were married,” Serena said.
“I wasn't going to ask.”
The answer unsettled her.
“I thought you should hear it without an excuse attached.”
Naomi folded her hands beneath the table.
“Then tell me about Bridgehouse.”
Serena had started the company to manage events and private hospitality contracts.
Duly had supplied introductions and eventually more profitable work with descriptions she did not examine closely.
Edmund began directing payments through it the previous year.
Some invoices represented real services.
Others did not.
“I signed them anyway,” she said.
Her attorney shifted but let her continue.
Serena placed copies of her company's statements and correspondence on the table.
Mara asked precise questions about access, originals, and whether any records had been altered.
Naomi watched the answers accumulate.
There were messages approving amounts, requests to change descriptions, and one email in which Edmund complained about a widow becoming difficult.
Naomi recognized the date beside it.
It was the week her father had increased the wedding's floral budget.
“Why now?” she asked.
Serena looked down.
“Edmund wants me to sign a statement saying I arranged the transfers on my own.”
“And before that?”
“Before that, I liked what the money made possible.”
It was the first answer Naomi had heard from anyone that did not try to make greed sound complicated.
She stood and went to the water pitcher.
Her hand shook, but she filled her own glass.
“Did he stay with you the whole night?”
The question escaped before she could decide whether she wanted it answered.
Serena's face tightened.
“Until morning.”
Naomi nodded once.
Something inside her stopped searching for a door that wasn't there.
“I called him,” Serena said quietly.
“But he chose to come.”
“I know.”
They returned to the documents.
By the end of the meeting, Mara had arranged to bring the material to investigators through the appropriate attorneys.
No one promised Serena immunity.
Naomi did not offer forgiveness.
Outside, the air smelled of wet pavement and roasted coffee from the shop downstairs.
She stood beneath the awning until her breathing settled.
Then she called June.
May you like
“I'm coming back to work,” she said.
On the bench waited a damaged cookbook whose owner still believed it could be used again.
