Chapter 4 Watchful Eyes
1519 Words
I froze. My mind went blank. Marcus held the empty velvet bag like evidence. His eyes waited.
All I could see was the bag. The gold drawstring. My grandmother’s hands tying it.
“Well?” Marcus said. The word cut.
“My mouth was dry. “I…,” I started. “I was going to get them cleaned.” The lie came out thin. “The earrings. The setting was loose. I was worried I’d lose a stone.”
He did not blink. “You were going to get them cleaned.”
“Yes.”
“So where are they?”
“At the jeweler.” My voice shook as I built the story. “Martin and Sons, on Fifth. They said a week.”
He stepped closer. He still held the bag between thumb and finger. “You took your grandmother’s heirlooms to a jeweler without telling me.”
“It didn’t seem important.” I tried to shrug. The motion looked small and false. “You’ve been busy. With work. With everything.”
He watched my face for cracks. “Which jeweler?”
“Martin and Sons, Fifth and Grand.” I had walked past it a hundred times. Please don’t call them, please don’t call them.
“You have the receipt?”
My heart hit my ribs. “No. I… I must have lost it. I’m sorry. It was in my purse with the bag. I must have thrown it out by accident.” I babbled.
He was silent. The foyer felt heavy. Finally he tossed the empty bag onto the hallway table. It landed soft.
“It’s careless, Clara. That jewelry may not be worth a fortune, but it’s a legacy. You don’t just lose receipts.”
“I know. I’m sorry.” I stared at the marble floor.
“From now on, you tell me before you handle any assets. Even sentimental ones. Understood?”
“Yes.”
“And when they’re ready, I’ll go with you to pick them up. I want to see this jeweler.”
Ice slid down my spine. “Okay.”
He kept looking at me. I could feel the bottle of pills in my purse, heavy and secret. If he dug through that purse now, I was finished.
“Why were you going through my purse?” I asked, keeping my voice calm. Not an accusation. Just a question.
His jaw tightened. “Your wallet was on the counter. You left it there this morning. I was putting it back. I felt the bag.” A half truth. He was snooping. He was always snooping.
“Oh,” I said. “Thank you.”
He gave me one last long look and walked back to his study. “Don’t be late with dinner. I have a conference call at seven.”
The study door clicked shut.
I stood in the foyer trembling. I grabbed the velvet bag, shoved it deep into my coat pocket, and moved on autopilot to the kitchen. I put the kettle on for Anya’s tea. My hands shook so hard I spilled water on the counter.
I had bought a week. Maybe.
I had to get to a jeweler. Fast. I had to pawn something else for a few hundred bucks. I had to find someone to fake a receipt, to say they had my pieces. It felt impossible.
Anya came in quietly. She saw my face. “What happened?”
“Nothing,” I said too fast. “Marcus is just in a mood.”
She did not buy it. She peeled a banana slowly. “He was in my room earlier,” she said without looking at me.
My head snapped toward her. “Why?”
“Checking the windows. He said he was worried about a draft.” She chewed. “He wasn’t checking windows.”
Of course he was searching her room too. He did not trust anyone.
We fell silent. The kettle whistled. Chamomile steam filled the kitchen. The smell was fake and soft.
“I need a favor,” I said. The words tasted like metal.
Anya looked up, cautious.
“I need to go out tomorrow. For a few hours. If he calls, can you tell him I’m at the store? Or at the pharmacy?”
She blinked. “Where are you really going?”
“Just somewhere I can be alone.” I kept it vague.
She finished her banana. “He’ll know if I lie.”
“He won’t. Not if you sound normal.” I sounded desperate. I was desperate.
“Why should I?” she asked, not mean. Just honest.
Because I was the only one who knew he was a monster. Because she was the only one who knew I wasn’t crazy. I wanted to say those things. I said a softer version. “Because I need you.”
She paused. Then she whispered, “What time tomorrow?”
“After he leaves. Around ten.”
“Alright.” She folded the peel into the compost.
Relief almost made me cry. “Thank you.”
I could not sleep. The pills in the closet called to me. A deep, final sleep. I pushed the thought away. Not like that. Not yet.
I got up and pulled the paint box from under the bed. I counted the cash again under the streetlight that slipped through the blinds. One thousand eight hundred fifty dollars. Not enough. Everything.
The next morning Marcus left at eight. I paced until nine thirty. At ten on the dot I put on my coat.
“Remember,” I said to Anya. She was curled on the couch with a book. She nodded without looking up.
I took a cab downtown. My first stop was the clinic. Dr. Lee’s office. I asked for the billing manager.
Linda sat me down in a small office. I told her a part truth. I said I was leaving an abusive situation. I said I had no access to joint accounts and needed help with treatment. My hands shook. I did not pretend.
Linda softened. “Oh, honey.” She arranged a payment plan. She said the clinic had a charity fund. It would not cover everything, but it would cover the first round. I filled out forms. I used my real name, my diagnosis, and a PO box for an address.
When I left, I had an appointment for the port installation. A thin thread of hope stretched out in front of me.
Then I went to Martin and Sons. The bell on the door tinkled. The shop smelled of old wood and polish. An elderly man came forward.
“Can I help you?”
I told another small lie. I said my husband had gifted me jewelry from his mother, and I had lost it. I was too ashamed to tell him. I needed a receipt to buy myself time. I was crying. Real tears.
The man watched me. He hesitated. I slid two hundred dollars across the counter from my paint box cash. “Please.”
He looked at the money. He looked at my face. He sighed and opened a receipt book. He wrote a detailed receipt for two emerald earrings and a pearl necklace, dated yesterday. He gave me a claim ticket.
“I can’t hold anything for you,” he said quietly. “And if your husband comes in…”
“He won’t,” I said. “Thank you.”
I left with the receipt and ticket like a small miracle.
I got home at two. Anya was still on the couch. “He called at one,” she said. “I told him you were at the organic market looking for a specific yogurt.”
“Did he believe you?”
“I think so. He said Greek is fine.” She watched me. “Did you do what you needed?”
“Part of it.”
I hid the receipt inside an old book on my shelf. For the first time in days I could breathe.
Dinner was quiet. Marcus checked his phone more than he looked at us. When he finished his wine he said, “I’ll be traveling to San Francisco for three days. Merger push. I leave tomorrow morning.”
Three days. Space.
“Pick up your jewelry while I’m gone. I want to see it when I return,” he added, testing me.
“I will,” I said.
After he left, Anya met my eyes. We exchanged a small, tight smile. Understanding.
That night my phone buzzed. An unknown number. A text.
Linda from Dr. Lee’s office had called the jeweler to verify my story. He had covered for me.
I stared at the screen. I was not alone.
Then my phone buzzed again. Marcus.
Marcus: I installed new indoor security cameras while you were out today. The feed is on my phone. Sleep well.
My chest dropped. I went into my dark room and searched for a tiny, unblinking eye. It could be anywhere. He could be watching right now.
- Writer
