Chapter 2 - The First Crack
The dining room felt smaller than usual, suffocated by the heavy silence that followed Margaret’s first few bites of chicken. Daniel sat across from me, pouring the wine with an expansive, theatrical flourish. He was riding the high of absolute control.
"Exquisite," Daniel said, taking a sip. "You see, Mom, I told you Mara would open the good stuff for you."
"It's passable," Margaret murmured, setting her glass down. She looked across the table at me, her sharp gray eyes narrowing slightly. "You're unusually quiet today, Mara. Usually, by this point in a visit, you're defending your little career or making excuses for why the house isn't dusted properly."
I reached for my wine glass, making sure my sleeve slipped back just enough to reveal the edge of the beige makeup covering my wrist. Daniel caught the movement. His eyes flicked to my face, a sudden, sharp warning flashing in his pupils.
"I’ve just been thinking a lot about what Daniel said last night," I said, looking directly at my husband. "He made some very... striking arguments about where my place should be."
Daniel cleared his throat quickly. "Yes, well, we both realized that family comes first. Right, honey?"
"Of course," I replied. "But before we finalize the listing for this house, I want to make sure I understand the timeline. Moving into the colonial estate is a big step. I’d love to know more about the refinancing you mentioned to the accountant, Daniel."
Daniel’s hand froze for a fraction of a second over his plate. He laughed, a short, forced sound. "Tax stuff, Mara. Nothing for you to worry your pretty head about. Let’s focus on the packing."
"Oh, it's not just tax stuff, Daniel," Margaret interjected, her aristocratic pride getting the better of her discretion. She scoffed, adjusting her silverware. "If we don't clear the arrears by the first of next month, the bank is going to initiate the audit on the estate trusts. We need the liquidity from this property sale to grease the wheels, so to speak. It’s a temporary setback."
"Arrears?" I asked, tilting my head. I looked at Daniel, whose face was beginning to pale beneath his tan. "Daniel, you told me your mother’s estate was entirely unencumbered. You told me the trust was secure."
"It is secure," Daniel snapped, his tone sharp enough to cut the air. He glared at me, a silent, vicious threat in his eyes that clearly said: Remember last night. "Mara, leave it alone. We’re handling it."
"I’m only asking because I looked at our joint accounts this morning," I said, leaning forward, resting my chin on my hands. "And I noticed that over the last six months, eighty thousand dollars has been transferred out of our savings into an account registered under 'Blackwood Holdings.' Isn't that the name of your mother’s private LLC, Margaret?"
The room went dead silent.
Margaret’s fork rattled against her porcelain plate. She looked at Daniel, her expression shifting from arrogance to cold fury. "Daniel? I thought you said she didn't look at the books."
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"She doesn't," Daniel hissed, his chair scraping against the hardwood floor as he shifted his weight. He leaned across the table, his eyes boring into mine, the exact same expression he wore right before he hit me the night before. "Mara. Shut your mouth and go get the dessert."
"I don't think I will," I said, my voice dropping the sweet, compliant register. I picked up my napkin and slowly, deliberately wiped the makeup off my left jawline, exposing the dark, ugly bruise underneath.
