“Is that why you were trying to borrow against the house?”
“No.”
“Then why?”
“I wasn’t trying to borrow against it for myself.”
“What were you trying to do?”
“Verify whether the property was connected to the trust assets.”
“With a credit facility?”
“The banker said the appraisal could trigger deeper title research.”
Phoebe made a frustrated sound.
“That is an absurd way to investigate estate records.”
“I know that now.”
“You should have called a lawyer.”
“I didn’t trust the lawyers connected to Jessi’s father.”
Phoebe leaned toward the phone.
“That is becoming personally offensive.”
Despite myself, I smiled.
Luca almost laughed.
Almost.
And for one strange second, I remembered our marriage before everything became a contest of unspoken resentment.
Then Lily cried.
The sound was sudden and sharp.
I stood automatically.
“I have to go.”
“Jessi.”
I stopped.
“Please.”
His voice had changed.
“I know you don’t trust me right now.”
“I don’t.”
“I understand.”
That surprised me more than anything else he had said.
“I’ll send photographs.”
“When?”
“Tonight.”
“All pages.”
“All pages.”
“No missing sections.”
“I promise.”
I looked at Phoebe.
She gave a cautious nod.
“Okay.”
“Can I see Lily tomorrow?”
My throat tightened.
There were a dozen angry answers available to me.
Then I looked at my daughter.
This wasn’t about punishing him.
Not anymore.
“If we can speak calmly.”
“We can.”
“You come alone.”
“I will.”
“And Luca?”
“Yes?”
“Bring the original letter.”
A pause.
Then:
“I will.”
The call ended.
By eight thirty that evening, no photographs had arrived.
At nine, I stopped checking my phone every two minutes.
At nine fifteen, I checked again anyway.
Nothing.
Evelyn made tea.
Phoebe went home but left strict instructions to forward anything immediately.
Naomi finally left the parking garage and promised to come by in the morning.
Lily fed.
Slept.
Woke.
Slept again.
The rhythm of caring for her gave the evening shape.
At ten forty-three, my phone buzzed.
