Chapter 5 - The Family Council
By two in the afternoon, I drove straight to Denise’s sprawling suburban home. I didn’t ring the doorbell. I used the key Aaron had kept on our kitchen key rack and pushed through the heavy oak door.
Voices drifted from the formal dining room, followed by the clink of silverware.
“We have to make sure the probate filing moves quickly,” Craig’s voice said, firm and practical. “Aaron assured me the term life policy was through his corporate package. She probably doesn’t even know the payout amount.”
“The girl has always been naive,” Denise’s sharp voice answered. “She thinks numbers on a screen are all that matters. As long as she cuts the check for the burial today, we can handle the rest before she gets wise.”
“What about the condo?” a softer, tearful voice asked. Elena. She was sitting in my mother-in-law’s dining room, eating lunch with Aaron’s family.
“Don’t worry, darling,” Denise said warmly. “Aaron wanted you protected. Craig will take care of the legal transfer.”
I stepped through the arched entryway, my combat boots clicking heavily on the hardwood floor.
All four people at the table froze.
Denise sat at the head, holding a porcelain teacup. To her right was Aaron’s father, Richard, who had spent forty years pretending not to see anything unpleasant. Craig was seated opposite, and next to Craig, wearing an oversized cashmere cardigan that belonged to my dead husband, was Elena.
“Don’t get up,” I said quietly, leaning against the doorframe.
Denise’s face tightened with furious embarrassment. “Claire! How dare you enter my home uninvited?”
“I have a key,” I said, tossing the leather organizer from Aaron’s car onto the center of the mahogany table. It slid into Denise’s bread plate, knocking over a butter knife. “Just like Aaron had a key to Elena’s four-thousand-dollar-a-month apartment.”
Elena flinched, shrinking back into Craig’s shoulder. Craig immediately stood up, puffing out his chest. “Claire, that’s private property. Did you break into his car?”
“Our car, Craig. Paid for with marital funds from an account Aaron emptied behind my back.” I looked straight at Denise. “You asked me for thirty-five thousand dollars for a funeral this morning. Tell me, Denise—why should I pay a dime when you’ve been hosting my husband’s mistress for lunch?”
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Denise slowly put her teacup down. The facade dropped. Her eyes burned with cold, unvarnished hatred.
“Because you were never one of us, Claire,” Denise hissed. “You were a paycheck. Aaron realized eight years ago that marrying an accountant was the most boring mistake of his life. Elena gave him passion. Elena gave him family. And now, you will do your legal duty and pay for his burial, or I will drag your name through every courtroom in this county.”
