Chapter 5

The next hour moved in fragments. Vera gave her statement to the short officer, a woman with kind eyes and a calm voice who introduced herself as Officer Delgado. She sat in the living room, on the edge of the leather sofa she'd bought in a fit of optimism six years ago, and told the story in the same steady, level voice she'd used all evening.

"They planned to divide my home," she said. "The antiques, the dressing room, the dining table. My mother-in-law announced that I would transfer two thousand, eight hundred dollars a month to her account. My husband said nothing."

Officer Delgado wrote in her notebook. "And when you objected?"

"I said no." Vera touched her temple. "That's when he hit me. He swung the plate into the side of my head. The recording captured it."

The officer looked at the phone, which Vera had placed on the coffee table, the screen glowing with the recording app. "We'll need to take the phone into evidence."

Vera nodded. "I've already uploaded a copy to my cloud storage. And to my lawyer."

The officer raised an eyebrow. "You have a lawyer?"

"I have a lawyer," Vera said. She didn't mention that she'd been meeting with a divorce attorney for three months, ever since Ramona had first floated the idea of "simplifying" Vera's assets. Some things were better kept quiet.

In the kitchen, she could hear the murmur of voices—the tall officer, Mr. Hale, one of them explaining something in a low, careful tone. Lucas's voice rose once, sharp and indignant, and then fell again. Through the window, she could see the red and blue lights of the patrol car pulsing against the dusk.

Bennett appeared in the doorway. He looked older, smaller, his olive herringbone vest hanging loose on his frame. He held a glass of water in his hand, though Vera doubted he intended to drink it.

"Vera," he said. His voice was quiet, conciliatory. "Can we talk?"

Vera looked at him. She remembered the day she'd married Lucas, how Bennett had hugged her and welcomed her to the family. She remembered the years after, how that welcome had curdled into expectation, into entitlement, into the slow poison of being treated as an outsider in her own home.

"There's nothing to talk about, Bennett."

"There is," he said. He took a step into the room, his eyes on the phone on the coffee table. "What happened tonight—it shouldn't have happened. Lucas lost his temper. He made a terrible mistake. But he's my son, and I'm asking you—please don't destroy him over this."