Chapter 7
The restroom door at the helipad terminal didn't lock right. I had to hold it with my foot while I got my phone out, and my hand was shaking so bad I almost dropped it.
We'd landed hard ten minutes earlier. The pilot had said something about wind shear and needing to check the manifold, fuel, his voice too calm. Richard had kept his hand on my elbow the whole walk from the pad to the building, not guiding, just holding. Like I might run. Inside, the terminal was just a single room with a coffee maker and a bulletin board and two doors marked Men and Women. I said I needed to use the restroom and he let me go because there were other people there — the pilot, a kid behind the counter in a county windbreaker.
I leaned against the sink. My coat was still on. I could feel the baby moving, small tight turns, and I kept one hand on my belly without thinking. My phone had one bar.
I called Evelyn.
She picked up on the second ring. Evelyn Tate, my attorney. I'd saved her number under E. Tate so Richard wouldn't ask.
"It's Olivia," I said. My voice sounded smaller than I wanted. "I'm checking in."
There was a pause. I could hear paper in the background, her office in town.
"Olivia. Are you safe?" she said.
I watched the door. Richard's shoes were right outside, I could see the shadow under the crack.
"Not anymore," I said.
That was the phrase. We'd set it three months ago when I signed everything. If I ever said "not anymore" on the phone, it meant do not wait, pull the file, start the verification. She didn't ask what it meant. She just breathed in.
"Okay," she said. "I'm pulling it now. Are you on speaker?"
"No."
"Good. Listen to me. The restated trust and the beneficiary change are both recorded. The county recorder has them since August 12th. Filed and stamped. The notarized affidavit is in my vault. No one can reverse it without you and a witness. It's valid, Olivia. It's retrievable today."
My knees felt weak. I gripped the edge of the sink.
"How long to prove it?" I whispered.
"Hours, not weeks," she said. "If someone calls the recorder's office they can confirm the filing by grantor name. If law enforcement requests it, the sheriff can have a certified copy by this afternoon. The hospital would have accepted it last week when we lodged the copy with the county clerk, remember?"
I remembered. Sitting in her conference room on a Tuesday in August, signing each page while she explained that my medical directive now named my sister, not Richard, and that the estate went into a trust for the child.
Richard's knuckle tapped the door. Once. Light.
"Liv? You okay in there?"
I muted the phone for half a second and cleared my throat. "Just a minute," I called.
Evelyn heard it. Her voice dropped lower.
"Where are you?" she asked.
"Coastal helipad. North county. We landed. He's right outside."
"Do not get back in that helicopter," she said. "I'm driving to the courthouse now. I'll have the certified copy in hand within an hour. If you can get to a deputy, tell them you need a welfare verification of a recorded trust. Tell them my name. Don't tell him it's started."
I nodded even though she couldn't see me. My breath was coming fast and I tried to slow it.
"I won't," I said.
Another tap, harder this time. The door rattled in its frame.
"Olivia, the pilot says we need to go before the weather turns," Richard said. His voice was smooth, patient, the voice he used when other people could hear. "You want me to wait outside?"
Evelyn said, "I'm starting the clock right now. Text me the exact location if you can. If I don't hear from you in thirty minutes, I'm calling the county sheriff myself."
My thumb hovered over the keypad. I couldn't type with Richard listening.
"Thank you," I whispered.
"Keep your phone on," she said. "And Olivia — you did everything right three months ago. It's done."
I ended the call and slipped the phone into the inside pocket of my trench coat. I ran water, watched it get cold, and pressed my wet hands to my cheeks. My eyes in the mirror were red but clear. I unlocked the door.
Richard was right there, a foot away, smiling. He had taken off his suit jacket and had it over his arm. The kid behind the counter was looking at us.
"Feel better?" Richard asked. He brushed a piece of hair behind my ear. His fingers were cold.
"Yeah," I said. "Just dizzy."
May you like
He kept his hand on my back as we walked toward the exit, toward the helicopter still sitting on the pad with its door open. He couldn't know that somewhere in town a file was already being pulled from a vault, that a clerk was already looking up my name in a book. He thought we were going back to the same argument.
I kept my hand on my belly and walked beside him, and I didn't say a word about what I'd just done.
