Chapter 9: Fifty-Five Dollars a Night

The letter from Dean's lawyer came to the Hawthorne in a cream envelope, hand delivered, nineteen days after Hazel was born.

I read it standing at the window of the suite with Hazel on my shoulder.

It was two pages long and very polite.

It said that Mr. Harlan was concerned for the welfare of his wife and child.

It said that under the household agreement, funds contributed to the household since the birth were jointly held.

It requested a full accounting of the account ending in four-four-one-seven.

"He doesn't ask how much is in it," I said.

"He doesn't have to," Rafe said.

He was at the dining table of the suite with two phones and his tablet.

A lawyer from the company's counsel was on speaker.

I had learned that he worked best sitting very straight with his sleeves pushed up.

"This is a request for the balance, written to look like worry," said the lawyer.

"If you answer it, you confirm there is something to count."

"And if I don't?"

"He files a motion. The fight is whether trust money can be told apart from household money."

"Can it?"

"It's winnable. It also takes two years and a judge."

"I don't have two years," I said.

"No," said Rafe. "You have until he says it out loud."

The lawyer thanked us and hung up.

I sat down across from Rafe with Hazel against my collarbone.

"Nobody knows what's in the account," I said. "Not Phyllis, not Kelsey, not Dean's lawyer."

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