Chapter 4 - THE LOCKS.
Clara discovered Julian had changed the locks because her key no longer turned.
She had not gone alone.
Rachel was beside her.
So was a licensed property photographer Rachel had arranged to document Clara's belongings and the condition of the residence if access was permitted.
Clara had expected an argument.
She had not expected the key to stop halfway.
She tried again.
Nothing.
The polished brass lock had been replaced.
Rachel stared at it.
"Don't force it."
"I wasn't going to."
"Good."
Clara stepped back.
The front doors had always been absurdly large.
Julian loved them.
He once said guests should know they were entering somewhere important.
That morning, Clara stood on the front step wearing a forty-dollar gray sweatshirt while a door attached to property recorded in her name refused to open.
The irony was almost too obvious.
Rachel rang the bell.
A house employee answered.
Elena had worked there for three years.
She was in her fifties, quiet, careful, and perpetually worried about fingerprints on marble.
Her face changed when she saw Clara.
"Mrs. Sterling."
"Hi, Elena."
Elena glanced behind herself.
"They told us not to let you in."
Rachel spoke.
"Who told you?"
Elena hesitated.
"Mr. Julian."
Rachel handed her a business card.
"We aren't asking you to violate instructions from your employer. Please give this to him."
Elena looked at Clara.
Something in her expression hurt.
Not cruelty.
Fear.
People like Julian rarely cleaned their own houses, answered their own gates, scheduled their own repairs or carried their own heavy boxes.
Their power flowed through people who needed paychecks.
Clara understood that better standing on the doorstep than she ever had while living inside.
"Are you okay?" Clara asked.
Elena's eyes dropped.
"I'm working."
That was an answer.
Not to the question Clara asked.
Rachel noticed too.
Before Elena could close the door, Chloe appeared behind her.
Red was gone.
Today she wore cream cashmere and flat shoes.
She looked like she had already settled into the house.
Clara's house.
Chloe placed a hand over her stomach.
"You can't be here."
Clara almost replied.
Rachel touched her arm.
Not yet.
Rachel addressed Chloe instead.
"Is Julian available?"
"No."
"Then please tell him Ms. Sterling is requesting access to her personal property and that we've documented the lock change."
Chloe's mouth tightened.
"This is his home."
Clara couldn't stop herself.
"No."
Rachel looked at her.
Clara stayed calm.
Chloe folded her arms.
"You left."
Clara looked toward the foyer.
Her son's photograph had once hung on the wall near the staircase.
It was gone.
She could see the pale rectangle where it had been.
Something inside her tightened.
"Where's his picture?"
Chloe followed her gaze.
No answer.
Clara stepped toward the threshold.
Chloe immediately stepped back.
Elena looked terrified.
Rachel again put a hand on Clara's arm.
"Clara."
Clara stopped.
That mattered.
She could see how easily this could become another story.
Grieving woman rushes pregnant mistress.
There would be no mention of the missing photograph in the headline people told each other.
Clara backed away.
"Where is my son's picture?"
Chloe answered quietly.
"Julian moved some things."
"Where?"
"I don't know."
That lie was obvious enough that even Elena looked uncomfortable.
Rachel wrote something down.
Chloe noticed.
"Are you recording me?"
"No."
"Then stop writing."
Rachel looked up.
"No."
For the first time, Clara saw Chloe experience a tiny fraction of what Julian normally made other people feel.
A boundary she could not order away.
The door closed.
Clara stood outside.
Rachel turned toward the photographer.
"Front entrance. Lock hardware. Timestamp."
Pictures were taken.
Then they walked around the exterior.
Through a ground-floor window, Clara could see a breakfast table arranged with fresh flowers.
There were two coffee cups.
A bowl of fruit.
Her life had been removed so efficiently it looked staged.
At the back of the house, Elena appeared briefly in a window.
She looked at Clara.
Then looked toward the interior hallway.
She lifted one finger to her lips.
A warning.
Or a request.
Clara couldn't tell.
Then she disappeared.
Back at the car, Rachel said, "Do you know whether Julian employed Elena directly or whether the household paid her?"
"Our household account."
"Health insurance?"
"Through a staffing company, I think."
"Does Julian control the relationship?"
"Yes."
Rachel nodded.
"Then don't pressure her."
"I wasn't going to."
"Good. People with jobs attached to rich families learn very quickly what they can afford to see."
Clara looked back at the villa.
Yesterday she had believed humiliation meant being struck by luggage and replaced at a funeral.
Today she understood another kind.
Standing outside a mansion bearing your legal ownership while the woman sleeping with your husband told you that you had left voluntarily.
Rachel's phone rang.
She listened.
Said very little.
Then ended the call.
"That was Julian's attorney."
Clara waited.
"They're proposing temporary access tomorrow."
"Good."
"With conditions."
"Of course."
"Two hours. Supervised. You may retrieve clothing, medications and essential personal effects."
"My son's things?"
Rachel hesitated.
"Not listed."
Clara stared at the house.
"Why?"
"Because Julian's side says those are jointly sentimental items and shouldn't be removed while emotions are high."
Clara laughed softly.
"Jointly sentimental."
"I know."
"He took the photograph off the wall."
"I know."
Clara looked at Rachel.
"I want his room left alone."
"We can request that."
"No. I want them told not to touch it."
Rachel nodded.
"I'll send that."
Clara started toward the car.
Her phone vibrated.
Unknown number.
A text.
MRS. STERLING, THIS IS ELENA. I'M SORRY.
A second message arrived before Clara could answer.
HE TOLD US THE BOY'S ROOM HAS TO BE CLEARED BEFORE MONDAY.
Clara stopped walking.
Rachel read over her shoulder.
The house was suddenly no longer about locks.
May you like
It was about a bedroom upstairs.
And somebody had already decided Clara's dead child needed to make room for the next one.
