Chapter 1 - WHO SIGNED IT?
Elena Morales never told anyone the cards predicted the future.
Margaret Whitmore had decided that part for her.
Elena sat at the far end of the marble kitchen island during the twenty minutes Margaret called a break only because state labor law called it one first.
Dinner preparations were finished.
The dining table beyond the open kitchen glittered with crystal and silver.
White roses stood in low arrangements so no guest would have to lean around them.
Three handbags waited on the entry bench for women who had not arrived yet.
Elena had made coffee.
Then taken her tarot deck from her pocket.
Not for prophecy.
For quiet.
Her aunt had taught her to use the cards when her thoughts became too loud.
Lay out three.
Ask a question that had nothing mystical about it.
What am I ignoring?
What am I afraid to say?
What happens if I keep doing nothing?
Elena turned over the first card.
Justice.
The card had a tiny crescent-shaped nick near the lower corner.
She had owned the deck for fourteen years.
She had barely touched the second card when Margaret entered.
Margaret stopped.
Her gaze moved from Elena—
to the cards—
and sharpened.
“What is this?”
Elena began gathering them.
“My break.”
Margaret crossed the kitchen.
“You're entertaining yourself with this garbage in my house?”
Elena looked at the wall clock.
“I have seven minutes left.”
That was the wrong answer.
Margaret snatched the deck from her hands.
Then swept it hard across the marble island.
Cards flew.
Some slid beneath barstools.
Others scattered across the polished floor.
Justice landed face-up near Margaret's heel.
Margaret smiled.
“You clean houses and pretend to predict futures?”
Elena said nothing.
She knelt.
Picked up The Sun.
The Hermit.
Eight of Cups.
She did not rush.
Margaret hated that more.
“You know what I think?”
Elena reached under the island for another card.
“No.”
“I think people who can't control their own lives become fascinated with imaginary control.”
Elena looked up.
“Then I suppose everybody has a hobby.”
Margaret's mouth tightened.
The front door opened.
A woman's voice carried from the foyer.
“Margaret?”
Margaret's expression changed instantly.
Dinner face.
Warm smile.
Shoulders relaxed.
“Victoria.”
Victoria Hale entered the kitchen in a dark tailored dress with a leather handbag over one shoulder.
Forty-five.
Calm in the expensive way that usually meant people waited when she spoke.
She started to smile at Margaret.
Then saw Elena kneeling beside the island.
The scattered cards.
The deck in her hands.
Victoria stopped.
Elena looked up.
Recognition came first to Victoria.
“Wait.”
Margaret's smile faltered.
Victoria stepped closer.
“You're the woman who warned me.”
Elena stood slowly.
Margaret looked between them.
“What warning?”
Victoria ignored her.
“You were at the Prescott dinner.”
Elena nodded.
Margaret's gaze snapped toward her.
“You spoke to my guest at another event?”
Elena answered:
“She asked me where the restroom was.”
Victoria almost smiled.
“And on the way back, she told me not to sign anything until I checked the contract.”
Margaret's expression flattened.
Elena gathered the last cards.
“I didn't say not to sign.”
Victoria looked at her.
“No.”
Elena held the deck against her palm.
“I said to check it.”
Margaret laughed.
“You're telling me my housekeeper gave investment advice?”
Elena shook her head.
“I didn't predict anything.”
She looked at Victoria.
“I told you to check the contract before signing.”
Margaret's face changed.
Not much.
Enough.
Victoria saw it.
So did Elena.
Victoria opened her handbag.
Pulled out a thick sealed white legal folder.
Margaret's eyes dropped to the company name printed across the front.
MARSTON RIDGE DEVELOPMENT LLC
Elena stopped breathing for half a second.
Victoria noticed that too.
Margaret reached toward the folder.
Victoria slammed it flat onto the marble island.
“Good thing I checked.”
Margaret stared at her.
Victoria continued.
“The entire deal was fraudulent.”
Silence.
The kitchen suddenly felt enormous.
Elena looked at Marston Ridge again.
She had not seen that name in eleven years.
Margaret reached for the folder.
Victoria pulled it away.
“What exactly did your lawyers tell you?”
Margaret asked.
“Enough.”
“Then they're wrong.”
“No.”
“You have no idea how the structure works.”
Victoria's voice stayed quiet.
“I know the seller doesn't own the property.”
Margaret went still.
“I know the approval certificate was backdated.”
A sound came from the hallway.
Footsteps.
Heavy.
Male.
Approaching from deeper inside the house.
Margaret looked toward the doorway.
All color left her face.
Elena watched that happen.
Victoria did too.
The footsteps came closer.
Margaret whispered:
“He wasn't supposed to—”
She stopped.
Victoria slowly turned the legal folder toward the hallway.
Margaret moved.
Fast.
She lunged for it.
Victoria pulled it back against her body.
The footsteps stopped just outside the kitchen.
Victoria looked at Margaret.
“Margaret…”
May you like
Then at whoever was approaching.
“You know who signed this, don't you?”
