Chapter 7 - The House Camille Wanted
Marcus took photographs of everything before touching it.
The brochure.
The Northgate receipt.
The pantry lock.
Maya’s notes.
Then he called an attorney.
Not a criminal lawyer.
A family-law attorney.
Rachel Levin listened for nearly forty minutes without interrupting.
When Marcus finished, she said, “First priority is Maya’s safety. Second is preserving evidence. Third is separating emotional decisions from legal ones.”
“I want Camille out.”
“Is Camille on the deed?”
“No.”
“Was the house purchased before the marriage?”
“Yes.”
“Good. But it is still the marital residence, so don’t simply throw her belongings onto the street. We’ll handle it properly.”
Marcus explained the joint savings.
Rachel asked, “Was she authorized on the account?”
“Yes.”
“Then spending it may not be theft in the straightforward criminal sense, even if she lied to you. But it matters in divorce proceedings.”
“If I divorce her.”
Rachel paused.
“Mr. Reed, you called a divorce attorney.”
That ended the illusion.
Marcus stared through the office window at Elena’s old garden.
“I guess I did.”
Rachel continued.
“The forged signature and impersonated emails are separate concerns. Preserve them. Do not alter the original files.”
“What about what she did to Maya?”
“Has the school made a child-welfare report?”
“I don’t know.”
“They may be required to if they believe there was neglect. Cooperate. Don’t coach Maya. Let professionals speak to her.”
Marcus hated the word neglect.
It sounded official.
It also sounded like something he had failed to prevent.
That evening Maya sat at the kitchen island coloring.
The pantry door stood open.
Marcus had removed the padlock but left the hasp for evidence.
Maya kept glancing toward it.
“You don’t have to ask,” Marcus said.
She looked up.
“For what?”
“For food.”
“I know.”
But she still asked ten minutes later.
“Can I have an apple?”
“Yes.”
Twenty minutes after that:
“Can I get crackers?”
“Yes.”
Each request became a small indictment.
Marcus eventually pulled a sticky note from the drawer and wrote:
MAYA DOES NOT NEED PERMISSION TO EAT WHEN SHE IS HUNGRY.
He stuck it on the refrigerator.
Maya read it.
Then smiled.
A real smile.
Marcus nearly cried.
At bedtime, she asked if he would read to her.
He had not read to her in months.
Camille usually handled bedtime when he was home, saying consistency was important.
Marcus selected an old book from Maya’s shelf.
Inside the cover Elena had written:
To Maya — there will always be room for you in every story I love. Mom.
Marcus stopped.
Maya touched the page.
“I read that sometimes.”
He swallowed.
“It’s a good thing to remember.”
After Maya fell asleep, Marcus went downstairs.
His phone buzzed.
Camille.
I know you found the house brochure.
He did not answer.
Another message.
It wasn’t a secret. It was a dream.
Then another.
You used to want a fresh start too.
Marcus typed back.
Not one that required sending my daughter away.
The typing bubble appeared.
Stopped.
Appeared again.
Finally:
You have no idea what she has done to me.
Marcus stared at the message.
He almost ignored it.
Then another arrived.
A video attachment.
He opened it.
Maya stood in the kitchen.
She appeared furious.
“I hate you!” Maya screamed at someone outside the frame. “I wish Dad never married you!”
The clip ended.
Camille wrote:
Still think she’s innocent?
Marcus watched it again.
Something about the framing bothered him.
Maya was looking downward.
Toward the floor.
And just before she shouted, another voice could faintly be heard.
Camille’s.
Marcus turned up the volume.
He replayed the first second.
Camille was saying:
“Say it again. Tell me how much you hate me.”
The video had not captured spontaneous aggression.
Camille had been filming a child she was provoking.
Marcus checked the metadata.
There were more files in the shared cloud folder.
Dozens.
All named with dates.
May you like
Camille had been building a case.
For almost a year.
