Chapter 8 - The Man Who Wanted Me to Swing FirstVictor called from an unfamiliar number at 8:03 that night.
I nearly ignored it.
Then I answered.
"Daniel."
His voice sounded smooth.
Familiar.
Almost friendly.
"We need to clear the air."
I put the phone on speaker and set it on the kitchen counter.
"I don't think we have anything to discuss."
"Come on. We're family."
"You grabbed me while I was holding Rosie."
He sighed.
"Emotions ran high."
"Mine didn't make me grab a child."
"Celeste didn't intend to hurt her."
I stared at the phone.
"So you're admitting she grabbed her?"
A brief silence.
"Don't twist my words."
"Then stop calling."
"Daniel, you need to understand what's at stake."
I remembered Leah's instructions.
Don't argue.
Don't threaten.
Don't give them another performance to use.
"Any communication about Rosie's interests should go through Leah Price."
Victor laughed.
"You're letting that woman turn this into a legal war?"
"You can contact her."
His tone sharpened.
"Your wife knew how to negotiate."
I felt heat rise into my face.
"Don't talk about Hannah."
"She understood the family couldn't function if everyone demanded their own little piece."
"Hannah is dead."
"Exactly. So perhaps it's time you stop making decisions based on what she might have wanted."
I gripped the edge of the counter.
Rosie was asleep upstairs.
The house was silent.
Victor continued.
"There's a reasonable arrangement on the table. The family's attorneys can explain it."
"What arrangement?"
"One that protects Rosie's future and allows the property to move forward."
"Then send it to Leah."
A pause.
"You really want lawyers involved?"
"Yes."
Victor exhaled slowly.
"People are already wondering whether you're stable enough to raise that little girl."
My fingers tightened.
There it was.
The threat hiding beneath the politeness.
"You should think about what the video looks like," he continued. "A man with a violent history. A frightened child. A woman injured in her own home."
I felt my heart pound.
For one moment, I wanted to tell him exactly what I thought of him.
Then I looked at the refrigerator.
Rosie's drawings covered the door.
One showed a tall figure with black tattoos holding hands with a little girl beneath a bright yellow sun.
Above them, she'd written three crooked letters.
DAD.
I lowered my voice.
"Do not contact me directly again."
I ended the call.
Then I immediately wrote down the time, number, and what I remembered him saying.
My hands were shaking.
Not from fear.
From the effort of not doing what Victor expected.
Leah called the next morning after I forwarded the notes.
"You handled that appropriately."
"Didn't feel like it."
"Restraint rarely feels satisfying in the moment."
She had another piece of news.
The family had offered to settle the trust dispute.
I nearly laughed.
"What dispute? They've refused to provide an accounting."
"They're now proposing a lump-sum payment for Rosie's interest."
"How much?"
"Two hundred fifty thousand dollars."
I went quiet.
That was more money than I'd ever had in my bank account.
Enough to pay off our mortgage.
Enough to keep the workshop open through several bad years.
Enough to buy Rosie security.
At least, that was how they wanted me to see it.
"What's her interest worth?" I asked.
"We don't know yet. That's why we need the accounting and valuation."
"Do they want me to sign something?"
"Yes. A release and approval of a restructuring plan."
"Would I even have authority to do that?"
"Not unilaterally. A transaction affecting Rosie's trust rights would require proper fiduciary action and potentially court approval."
I rubbed my eyes.
"Then why offer it?"
"Because they may be hoping you'll cooperate before those protections are fully examined."
Leah waited.
"Daniel, are you considering it?"
I looked toward the staircase.
I thought about Rosie's bruised arm.
About Hannah's scarf.
About Victor's hand gripping my jacket.
"No."
"Good. We still need to review the documents before forming a final position."
Later that afternoon, an envelope arrived at my workshop.
No return address.
Inside was a photograph.
It showed Hannah standing beside Malcolm in the mansion's study.
Hannah's face was pale.
She was holding a folder against her chest.
On the back, someone had written:
She tried to stop it once.
I turned the photograph over.
There was no signature.
May you like
Only a date.
Four months before Hannah died.
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