He didn’t answer.
Elena placed her case on the dining table.
“Mrs.
Vale, I’m Elena Morris.
I represent Claire.”
Marjorie’s eyes moved to my covered cheek.
For the first time, she seemed to notice the swelling beneath the makeup.
“Represent her for what?”
Adrian laughed too quickly.
“This is absurd.
Claire’s upset because we argued.”
Elena looked at him.
“Did you strike your wife last night?”
The room became silent.
Adrian glanced at his mother.
There it was.
Not remorse.
Calculation.
“Of course not.”
I had expected that answer.
Daniel opened his own folder.
“We don’t need to debate the condition she was in this morning,” he said.
Adrian turned toward him.
“Who are you?”
“Someone you should have noticed six weeks ago.”
I almost smiled.
Daniel placed several photographs facedown on the table.
He didn’t reveal them yet.
That was deliberate.
Adrian hated not knowing what we knew.
“Claire,” he said, softer now, “we can talk privately.”
“We tried private.”
His eyes flicked toward my cheek.
Marjorie saw it.
“What happened to your face?”
I looked at her.
Adrian answered first.
“She slipped.”
I said nothing.
Marjorie stared at her son.
“Adrian.”
“She slipped in the bathroom.”
Daniel turned over one photograph.
It showed Adrian the previous evening outside the restaurant parking lot, leaning close to his mother while I stood several feet away near the car.
Another image showed Marjorie speaking while Adrian listened.
A third showed him pointing toward me.
Marjorie frowned.
“What is this supposed to prove?”
“By itself? Very little,” Daniel said.
He placed a printed transcript beside the photographs.
Adrian moved so quickly his chair tipped backward.
“Where did you get that?”
Elena’s gaze sharpened.
“Interesting question.”
Adrian froze.
I watched his mistake register.
