Rhett kept one hand on the open folder and the other around the phone.
Lena stared at the page in front of her, but the words blurred before she could make sense of them.
“What is that?” she asked.
Rhett did not answer immediately.
The voice on his phone was too faint for Lena to hear.
He listened, asked one clipped question, then ended the call.
“Decker is at your house,” he said.
Lena stood so quickly that the chair legs scraped against the floor.
“My mother?”
“She’s alive.”
The fact that he chose that word instead of fine made her stomach drop.
“What happened?”
“Boyd tried to stop her from leaving.”
Lena was already moving toward the door.
Rhett stepped aside rather than blocking her.
“Decker has her in the car.
They’re coming here now.”
“Did Boyd hurt her again?”
“Not after Decker arrived.”
Lena pressed a trembling hand against her mouth.
Rhett looked down at the folder.
“This can wait until she gets here.”
But Lena had already seen the name typed across the top page.
CLARA CARO.
Below it were dates.
Years of dates.
“What is that?” Lena asked again.
Rhett’s expression changed.
For the first time since he entered the bedroom, he seemed uncertain about how much truth another person could absorb at once.
“Your mother has worked in this house for twelve years,” he said.
“Longer than almost anyone currently on staff.”
“I know.”
“She never asked for a raise beyond the normal schedule.
Never asked for an advance.
Never took paid medical leave, though she had plenty available.”
Lena frowned.
“She said she couldn’t miss work.”
“She could.”
The words landed softly and brutally.
Rhett turned the folder so she could see the next sheet.
There were copies of leave records, payroll summaries, handwritten notes from the estate manager.
Clara had been offered medical leave more than once.
She had refused every time.
Lena sank back into the chair.
“She told me if she stopped working, we would lose everything.”
“She may have believed that.”
“Boyd told her that.”
Rhett’s eyes lifted.
Lena knew before he spoke that he understood.
“He controlled the money.”
She nodded.
Boyd had always handled the envelopes, the bills, the accounts.
Clara brought home the money.
Boyd decided where it went.
When Lena needed textbooks, Clara hid cash inside flour containers.
When tuition came due, she picked up weekend shifts elsewhere and told Boyd she was helping a friend.
