I turned.
“Checking why one of the lights is blinking.”
He looked at the security unit.
Then at my phone.
Then back at me.
“You came home and suddenly you’re inspecting the entire house?”
“I came home and found your grandmother in a locked room.”
“Not locked.”
“Nailed curtains.”
“She gets agitated by daylight.”
“According to whom?”
“Claire, enough.”
That was the first time his voice sharpened.
Good.
Pressure changes behavior.
I walked past him.
In our bedroom, the second betrayal was quieter.
A perfume I did not wear lingered near the vanity.
One drawer in the guest side of the dresser had been rearranged.
A long dark hair caught beneath the edge of the mattress.
Vanessa had auburn hair when she worked for me.
In the photographs from Eleanor’s cashbox, it was darker.
I photographed that too.
Not because a strand of hair would prove an affair by itself.
Because patterns matter.
I changed out of my suit, but I kept the jacket with the brass key inside its pocket.
Then I called Daniel downstairs.
He found me at the kitchen island with two glasses of water.
No papers.
No accusations.
Nothing he could seize.
He leaned against the counter.
“Are you angry?”
“Should I be?”
He watched me carefully.
“You tell me.”
I took a sip.
“How long has Eleanor been staying back there?”
“A few weeks.”
“She lives here.”
“You know what I mean.”
“No.
Explain it.”
His patience thinned.
“Her condition got worse.”
“What condition?”
“The memory issues.”
“She remembered my business trip.”
“That proves nothing.”
“She remembered Vanessa.”
The silence changed.
Daniel did not move.
Neither did I.
Then he smiled.
It was almost impressive.
“Vanessa?”
