“What?”
“It’s mine. Please return it.”
Adrian laughed bitterly.
“Natalie, seriously?”
“Yes.”
Marjorie stared.
Then disappeared into the bedroom.
A few moments later, she returned with the robe folded in her hands.
She thrust it toward me.
“There. Happy?”
I took it.
“No.”
Then I walked to the elevator.
At the hotel, I barely slept.
My mind kept circling the same questions.
What loan?
How much money?
Why had Adrian changed the locks?
Why did he need me out of the condo during the valuation?
And what had he meant when he said everything was riding on it?
At 6:40 the following morning, I called an attorney named Monica Price.
She specialized in property disputes and financial litigation.
I’d worked with her firm during a professional contract review several years earlier.
She listened without interrupting.
When I finished, she asked one question.
“Are you somewhere safe?”
“Yes.”
“Good. Let’s start by preserving evidence.”
