She was not even close.
Clare’s best friend, Sophie Parker, picked her up at the airport in Charlotte on a Thursday morning and talked for the entire 40-minute drive without taking a single breath.
“You have $30 billion, Clare.”
“30 billion with a B.”
“You could buy his entire firm and turn it into a parking lot.”
“You could buy the parking lot next to it and build a statue of yourself.”
“You could—”
“Sophie.”
“I am just saying you have options now.”
“Extremely expensive options.”
Clare almost smiled.
Almost.
She called Thomas Whitfield from Sophie’s car.
The estate transfer was complete.
She had an army of lawyers, unlimited resources, and the full legal weight of the Ashford name behind every document.
She told Sophie she was going home to get her children.
Sophie said, “Go get your babies and then we figure out the rest.”
Clare drove to Willow Creek Lane.
Her key did not work because of course it did not.
She rang the doorbell of her own home and stood on the porch she had painted herself three summers ago, 7 months pregnant, and waited.
Marcus opened the door.
Behind him stood Diane, arms crossed, expression arranged into something she probably thought looked concerned.
Behind Diane, visible through the hallway, Vanessa sat on Clare’s couch, drinking from Clare’s favorite coffee mug with the particular comfort of a woman who has decided that everything in sight already belongs to her.
Marcus held out an envelope.
Inside was a temporary restraining order filed by Marcus claiming Clare had abandoned the family, claiming she was emotionally unstable due to grief, claiming she posed a risk to the children’s well-being, supported by a sworn statement from Diane, claiming she had personally witnessed Clare in a state of emotional distress and erratic behavior.
