The Bloodline She Burned novel · Chapter 2 of 24

Chapter 2: The Severance

In front of the family lawyer she makes her father sign a severance for eighteen million dollars and her mother's paintings, and walks out with sixty-three dollars until Monday.

The study smelled of leather and the cigar her father no longer admitted to smoking.

Roz stood in the middle of the rug with the napkin pressed to her bleeding hand.

She did not sit.

"Shut the door," Conrad said.

"Leave it open. Anyone in the hall can hear me."

He looked at the door and then at her, and he shut it himself.

The lawyer opened his briefcase and took out a thin stack of paper.

"Miss Ellsworth, your father has authorized me to listen to your terms," he said. "Please be reasonable."

Roz picked up the Greywater folder from the desk and held it where both men could see the date.

"Drafted before I came downstairs," she said. "The doctor gave me a drip this morning so I'd be quiet when this form got signed."

"You've been unwell," Conrad said.

"Eleven thousand people just watched you call me sick."

His jaw moved.

"The stream is still running," Roz said. "I can walk out to the foyer and read this aloud to the room, or you can listen to my terms."

The lawyer looked at the folder, then at his client, and said nothing.

Conrad sat down behind the desk.

"Name the number."

"Eighteen million dollars. My mother's paintings out of the storage unit, every one. And every file I ever made in this house."

"Eighteen." He almost laughed. "You'll be on a bench in a month."

"I know exactly what a month looks like," Roz said.

The lawyer coughed.

"The release language would have to be complete, Miss Ellsworth. You would give up the trust, any claim on the company, and your seat on every family board."

"Write it so there is no way back for me. I want that in the first paragraph."

That stopped both of them.

Her father's eyes narrowed.

He had expected her to bargain for a way to come home.

"Sign it," Roz said. "Then burn that form in the grate while I watch."

The pen scratched for what felt like a very long time.

Conrad signed the release.

Then he signed the severance.

Then he lifted the Greywater folder from her hand, walked to the fireplace and dropped it onto the logs.

The flame took the corner of the page with her name on it.

"Done," he said. "Now get out of my house."

"Not yet. The files."

"What files?"

"Every sketchbook scan, every layered drawing and every hard drive from my studio on the third floor."

The lawyer shifted in the leather chair.

Conrad's eyes moved for the first time, toward the door.

It opened.

Camille stood on the threshold with a wool coat over her arm and a mug of tea in her hand.

She had fixed her makeup.

"I heard shouting," she said gently. "Dad, please don't let this get ugly. She's upset."

"Where are my hard drives?" Roz asked.

Camille's smile did not change.

"I've been archiving them for you, Roz. They're not safe in that old studio, the pipes leak. I'll send them over Monday with the check."

"They're in my room."

"They're on my desk. It's easier to back them up there."

Roz looked at her sister for a long moment.

In the first life, those same files had appeared at a gallery in Oakhaven City eleven months later, under Camille's name.

She had learned that from a newspaper someone left on a bench.

"Monday," Roz said. "In writing. The lawyer adds a line saying every file made at this address is mine."

Camille said, "Of course," and set the tea down on the desk.

Her hand was perfectly steady.

The lawyer wrote the line.

Conrad signed again without looking at it.

When the last page was done, the lawyer stood and squared the stack.

"The wire will go out Monday morning, Miss Ellsworth. Banks are closed until then."

"Monday."

"There is one more thing." He handed her a plain envelope. "Your mother's storage unit key, as you asked."

Roz had not asked for it.

She took it anyway.

The brass was cold and worn smooth.

Camille held up the coat.

It was Roz's old grey wool coat, the one with the torn lining.

Roz put her arms in the sleeves herself.

In the hall, the guests had gone silent again.

She walked past the banner and the wet marble where her blood had dried, and nobody stopped her.

Dane stood by the front door with his title medal in his fist.

"Roz," he said. "Just say it was a misunderstanding. Say it and stay."

"No."

"You'll be back by Friday."

"Look at the screen, Dane. Watch the whole thing, once, with the sound on."

He did not answer.

She pushed open the door and the winter hit her in the face.

At the gate she took out her phone to call a car.

Under her thumb the screen lit, and then it said: Service Suspended.

Her father had cut the line before she had even reached the study.

In her pocket was one key, a torn lining, and sixty-three dollars.

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