Chapter 3 - The Locked Suitcase
At 11:42 that night, the house finally became quiet.
Eleanor sat in her bedroom with the lights off.
Her lip had stopped bleeding.
The swelling had not.
She had cleaned the cut without taking a photograph.
Not yet.
Trent had checked her phone twice.
Rachel had returned it after dinner, but Eleanor assumed Trent was monitoring every call.
So she did nothing.
That was what men like Trent expected from older women after intimidation.
Confusion.
Fear.
Compliance.
Eleanor had given him all three.
Or at least the appearance of them.
At dinner, she had barely spoken.
Trent had eaten the chicken Rachel prepared as though he were an invited guest.
He complained about the seasoning.
He asked which bedroom had the largest closet.
He told Eleanor he needed access to the garage.
He even asked for the Wi-Fi password.
Eleanor gave him the guest network.
Rachel barely ate.
At ten thirty, Trent carried a bottle of bourbon upstairs.
By eleven fifteen, his footsteps stopped.
At eleven forty, Rachel texted Eleanor from the bedroom directly across the hall.
Do not come out.
Eleanor stared at the message.
Then another appeared.
He is awake.
Five minutes later:
Now.
Eleanor slipped from her room.
Rachel stood in the hallway.
She was barefoot.
“Where is he?”
“Asleep.”
“Are you sure?”
“I waited until he started snoring.”
Rachel looked down the staircase.
“Come on.”
They moved silently to the guest room.
Three suitcases sat open.
Three remained closed.
Rachel knelt beside the smallest dark-blue case.
Eleanor handed her the key.
Rachel shook her head.
“You open it.”
“Why?”
“Because if I do, I might change my mind.”
Eleanor crouched beside her.
“Rachel, what happened?”
“Open it.”
Eleanor inserted the key.
Inside were clothes.
A cosmetic bag.
Two pairs of shoes.
Nothing unusual.
Rachel removed the folded clothes.
Beneath the lining was a second zipper.
She opened it.
A large envelope appeared.
Then a hard drive.
A stack of bank statements.
A passport.
And a manila folder stamped with the name Holloway Development Group.
Eleanor stared.
“What is this?”
Rachel’s voice shook.
“Everything I could take.”
“From where?”
“Trent’s office.”
Eleanor looked up sharply.
Rachel sat on the edge of the bed.
“Mom, our house isn’t being renovated.”
“I assumed that.”
“We don’t have the house anymore.”
Eleanor stared at her.
“What?”
“The bank took it.”
“When?”
“Three days ago.”
“You never told me.”
“I didn’t know until last week.”
“How could you not know your house was being foreclosed?”
Rachel laughed bitterly.
“Because Trent handled the finances.”
Eleanor closed her eyes briefly.
Of course.
“How much?”
“I don’t know.”
“Rachel.”
“I really don’t.”
“Your name is on the deed.”
“I signed things.”
“What things?”
“Whatever he put in front of me.”
Eleanor sat beside her.
“Sweetheart.”
“I know.”
“No. I don’t think you do.”
Rachel looked at the documents.
“I started understanding about three months ago.”
She pulled out several bank statements.
“There were transfers from our joint accounts. Big ones.”
“How big?”
“Hundreds of thousands.”
Eleanor’s stomach tightened.
“To where?”
“I couldn’t tell. Companies I’d never heard of.”
“What companies?”
Rachel handed her a sheet.
Garrison Equity Partners.
Silver Birch Holdings.
Merritt Consulting.
Eleanor read the names twice.
“Are these Trent’s?”
“He says no.”
“But you think they are.”
“I think they’re part of something.”
Eleanor looked toward the door.
“Why come here?”
Rachel swallowed.
“Because he needed somewhere he thought he could control.”
“Me?”
“He thinks you’re rich, Mom.”
Eleanor almost laughed.
“I’m comfortable.”
“He thinks you have millions.”
“I don’t.”
“He doesn’t know that.”
“What does he want?”
Rachel’s silence answered first.
Then:
“The house.”
Eleanor stared at her.
“My house?”
“And maybe more.”
“Explain.”
Rachel stood and paced.
“Two weeks ago, Trent asked whether you had updated your will.”
Eleanor went still.
“He asked what?”
“I told him I didn’t know.”
“What exactly did he say?”
“He said we should make sure the house stayed in the family.”
Eleanor felt cold.
“Did he know about the trust?”
Rachel turned.
“What trust?”
Eleanor immediately regretted speaking.
“Nothing.”
“Mom.”
“We’ll discuss that later.”
Rachel stared.
“You do have more money than you told me.”
“This is not about my money.”
“It might be.”
A floorboard creaked in the hallway.
Both women froze.
Rachel moved quickly.
“Put everything back.”
Eleanor replaced the papers.
Another creak.
Closer.
Rachel pushed the suitcase beneath the bed.
The bedroom door opened.
Trent stood there.
He was wearing sweatpants and a white T-shirt.
His eyes moved from Rachel to Eleanor.
“What are you doing?”
Rachel answered immediately.
“Mom couldn’t sleep.”
“So?”
“She came to check on me.”
“At midnight?”
Eleanor smiled faintly.
“Mothers occasionally do that.”
Trent looked at the suitcase.
Then at Eleanor.
“You were unpacking?”
Rachel stepped between him and the bed.
“I was looking for pajamas.”
“You’re wearing pajamas.”
Rachel glanced at herself.
For a terrible second, nobody moved.
Then Trent smiled.
It was a pleasant smile.
That frightened Eleanor more than his anger.
He walked toward Rachel.
Put his hand around the back of her neck.
Not squeezing.
Not visibly threatening.
Just claiming space.
“You’re nervous.”
“I’m tired.”
“We’ve had a rough day.”
He kissed her forehead.
Rachel did not move.
Trent looked at Eleanor.
“You should get some sleep.”
“I was planning to.”
He guided Rachel toward the door.
“Come on.”
Rachel looked at the suitcase.
Then at her mother.
Trent noticed.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“Rachel.”
“I said nothing.”
He released her.
Then he walked toward the bed.
Eleanor’s heart pounded.
He crouched.
Reached underneath.
And pulled out the dark-blue suitcase.
Rachel went white.
Trent stared at it.
Then at her.
“Looking for pajamas?”
Nobody answered.
He placed the suitcase on the bed.
Eleanor slowly moved closer.
Trent tried the zipper.
Locked.
His expression changed.
“What’s in here?”
Rachel crossed her arms.
“My personal things.”
“We’re married.”
“So?”
“So you don’t have personal things.”
Eleanor stepped forward.
“That is enough.”
Trent ignored her.
“Where’s the key?”
Rachel said nothing.
Trent looked around.
His eyes landed on Eleanor.
“Do you have it?”
“No.”
He walked toward her.
Eleanor resisted the instinct to back away.
Trent’s gaze dropped to her hands.
Empty.
Then toward her robe pockets.
He smiled.
“Mind if I check?”
“Yes.”
His expression hardened.
Rachel suddenly said, “It’s in the bathroom.”
Trent turned.
Rachel walked past him.
“Come on.”
He followed her into the hall.
Eleanor waited.
Two seconds.
Three.
Then she reached beneath the pillow.
The key had been there the entire time.
But she wasn’t thinking about the key anymore.
She was thinking about three words Rachel had used earlier.
Everything I could take.
May you like
If those documents were merely what Rachel could take, what had she been forced to leave behind?
And why had Trent followed her to Eleanor’s house rather than fleeing from his own financial disaster?
