The documents were still resting on the dining table exactly where I had placed them after lunch.
That afternoon, Claire had prepared tomato soup and grilled cheese sandwiches in the enormous kitchen because she remembered how much I disliked formal dining.
Helena had been absent.
Julian spent nearly my entire visit upstairs, supposedly occupied with a conference call.
Claire smiled far more than the moment required.
Despite the September heat, she wore a blouse with sleeves reaching her wrists.
When I commented on how cold the air conditioning felt, she explained that Julian liked keeping the house at that temperature.
I had seen how cautiously she stretched for plates.
I had seen her phone lying facedown.
I had seen her body stiffen at the sound of the garage door opening.
I had observed everything.
And I had questioned almost nothing.
Now I remained just beyond the doorway as Helena advanced toward my daughter again.
Every instinct inside me demanded that I rush into the room.
I wanted to place myself between them.
I wanted to take Claire away from that house and make Julian understand exactly what it meant to stand by while his wife was being abused.
But I knew my daughter.
If I entered at that moment, Claire would defend them.
She would insist Helena had merely lost control for a second.
She would explain that Julian had been experiencing tremendous pressure.
She would apologize to me for causing unnecessary concern.
Then, the moment I left, they would punish her for humiliating the family in front of an outsider.
So I moved quietly backward.
I pulled the front door closed without letting the latch make a sound.
My hands trembled as I crossed the driveway toward my car, and I fought to regain control of them.
The Dupont residence stood on a peaceful Beverly Hills street bordered by towering hedges and locked security gates.
Afternoon sunlight gleamed against its white exterior and dark windows.
From the outside, nothing revealed what was taking place behind those walls.
I climbed into my car, drove two blocks, and parked beneath the shade beside a small public park.
Then I called Frank Miller.
He answered on the first ring.
“Mrs. Bennett.”
