Chapter 13
Jonathan did not answer.
“Exactly,” I said.
“I am not accusing you.”
“You just wanted to know what else I had.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Another pause.
“Because people are scared.”
I looked at Mara.
“Of what?”
Jonathan’s voice dropped.
“Of being the last person in the room who still believes him.”
The sentence stayed with me.
I had once been that person.
Not the last.
But close.
“What happens now?”
I asked.
“The funding committee meets tomorrow morning.”
“And the board?”
“Emergency session tonight.”
“Will Damian be there?”
A humorless sound came through the speaker.
“Damian is always there.”
The call ended.
Mara leaned back.
“He is blaming you.”
“Of course he is.”
“You understand what comes next?”
“Yes.”
“No, you don’t.”
She closed her laptop.
“He will make this personal because the facts are becoming difficult.”
I sat across from her.
“It was always personal.”
“Not like this.”
She folded her hands.
“Until this afternoon, you were his ex-wife.”
“What am I now?”
“A threat to a financing.”
The distinction chilled me.
Mara continued.
“He can insult an ex-wife.”
She looked directly at me.
“A threat gets investigated.”
I remembered Damian buying my father’s loan.
“He started before court.”
“Yes.”
“Then he knew I might do this.”
“Or he wanted leverage whether you did or not.”
That possibility was worse.
We left the office after nine.
Mara had arranged for me to stay in a small corporate apartment used by her firm for visiting attorneys.
It had one bedroom, a narrow kitchen, beige walls, and mismatched coffee mugs.
I stood inside the doorway with my suitcase and cardboard box.
“This is perfect,” I said.
She looked around.
“It is aggressively mediocre.”
“I love it.”
She smiled for the first time all day.
After she left, I sat on the edge of the bed without turning on the television.
The silence felt enormous.
For years, silence at home had meant Damian was angry.
There were many kinds of anger with him.
Loud anger was rare.
Cold anger was worse.
Cold anger meant doors closed carefully.
It meant the staff speaking more quietly.
It meant dinner served without conversation.
It meant Damian walking past me in the hall as if I had ceased to exist.
Then, hours or days later, he would return to normal.
No apology.
No discussion.
Just a hand at my waist during a gala or a kiss on my temple in front of other people.