Chapter 2 - THE EMPTY MUSIC ROOM
Everett did not remember walking back into the house.
One moment he was holding Daisy in the garage.
The next, he was standing at the bottom of the staircase with his daughter wrapped around him, her legs locked against his waist like she was afraid he might disappear again.
Meredith followed ten feet behind.
“Everett, you need to calm down.”
He looked at her.
His voice came out frighteningly quiet.
“Do not tell me what I need.”
Daisy tightened her arms around his neck.
Everett carried her upstairs.
The music room sat at the end of the second-floor hallway.
Natalie had chosen that room because afternoon sunlight came through three tall windows overlooking the gardens.
For years, her black Steinway grand piano had stood in the center.
After she died, Everett rarely opened the door.
Not because he wanted to erase her.
Because sometimes grief was easier when it stayed behind a closed door.
He reached for the handle.
Unlocked.
That was wrong.
He pushed it open.
The room was almost empty.
No piano.
No portrait.
No brass metronome Natalie used during practice.
Even the embroidered bench cushion Daisy used to sit on while her mother played was gone.
Everett stopped in the doorway.
Daisy whispered into his shoulder.
“I told you.”
He put her down carefully.
“Stay beside me.”
She nodded.
Everett walked into the room.
There were pale marks in the carpet where the piano legs had stood.
That was all.
Meredith remained near the door.
“It was taking up half the room.”
Everett turned.
“That piano belonged to my wife.”
“Your late wife.”
His expression changed.
Meredith realized the mistake.
“I didn’t mean it like that.”
“How did you mean it?”
She crossed her arms.
“We’re getting married in six weeks. At some point, I am supposed to be allowed to live in this house without feeling like Natalie is standing in every room watching me.”
Daisy looked toward the floor.
Everett saw it.
“Were you planning to use this room?”
“Yes.”
“For what?”
“My design studio.”
He stared at her.
“You sold Natalie’s piano to make yourself a design studio?”
“I didn’t sell it.”
Everett’s shoulders loosened slightly.
“Where is it?”
Meredith hesitated.
“I had it removed.”
“Where?”
“A storage company.”
“Which one?”
“I don’t remember.”
“You arranged transportation for a nine-foot concert grand and you don’t remember the company?”
“It was handled through my decorator.”
“Call her.”
“Everett.”
“Call her.”
Meredith pulled out her phone.
She didn’t dial.
That told him everything.
He stepped closer.
“Did you sell it?”
“It wasn’t being used.”
“That is not an answer.”
“The piano was worth a ridiculous amount of money to sit in a locked room.”
“How much?”
Silence.
Everett felt his pulse pounding behind his eyes.
“How much did you sell my dead wife’s piano for?”
“Three hundred and ten thousand.”
Daisy gasped.
Everett barely heard her.
“To whom?”
“A collector.”
“Name.”
“I don’t know.”
“Then who handled the sale?”
Meredith’s mouth tightened.
“Halden Fine Arts.”
Everett knew the name.
Boston auction house.
Private sales.
Estate collections.
He took out his phone.
It was nearly six in the evening.
He called anyway.
A receptionist answered.
“My name is Everett Sloan. I need to speak to whoever handled the sale of a Steinway concert grand removed from my residence.”
The woman paused.
“One moment, Mr. Sloan.”
Less than thirty seconds later, a man answered.
“Mr. Sloan, this is Julian Mercer, director of private acquisitions.”
“Where is my piano?”
Another pause.
“I was under the impression Mrs. Sloan authorized the sale.”
Everett looked directly at Meredith.
“She is not Mrs. Sloan.”
Meredith went pale.
Julian cleared his throat.
“Our paperwork identifies Meredith Sloan as your authorized domestic representative.”
“I never gave her that authority.”
Silence.
Everett heard keyboard clicks.
“Mr. Sloan, perhaps we should have our legal departments speak.”
“Where is the piano?”
“It is scheduled for delivery to a buyer tomorrow morning.”
“Cancel it.”
“We have a signed bill of sale.”
“Signed by whom?”
“You.”
Everett went still.
“I did not sign anything.”
Daisy looked between the adults.
Meredith took one step backward.
Everett saw it.
“Send the document to my attorney immediately.”
“I can do that.”
“And nothing leaves your building.”
“Mr. Sloan—”
“If that piano moves one inch, I will have a judge involved before breakfast.”
Julian exhaled.
“I understand.”
Everett ended the call.
He looked at Meredith.
“You forged my signature?”
“No.”
“They have my signature.”
“Your office uses electronic authorization all the time.”
“For hotel contracts.”
“And household purchases.”
“Not the sale of personal property.”
“You would have agreed eventually.”
Everett stared at her.
Something inside him finally settled.
Not anger.
Certainty.
“Get out.”
Meredith blinked.
“Everett—”
“You have fifteen minutes.”
“You’re not thinking clearly.”
“No. I finally am.”
She stepped toward him.
“After everything I have done for you?”
Daisy moved closer to Everett.
He placed one hand on her shoulder.
“What exactly have you done?”
“I put this family back together.”
Everett almost laughed.
“Is that what you call this?”
“You were barely functioning when I met you.”
That landed because part of it was true.
After Natalie died, Everett had buried himself in work.
Chicago.
London.
Miami.
Los Angeles.
Any city with a Sloan Hotel and a problem big enough to distract him.
Meredith had entered his life eighteen months later.
Elegant.
Organized.
Calm.
She planned dinners.
Managed the house.
Remembered school schedules Everett sometimes forgot.
He had mistaken competence for kindness.
Meredith continued.
“I took care of everything while you traveled.”
Everett looked at Daisy’s cheek.
“I can see that.”
Meredith’s face hardened.
“She is difficult.”
Daisy flinched.
Everett pointed toward the hallway.
“Leave.”
“Where am I supposed to go?”
“You own an apartment in Back Bay.”
“You asked me to move here.”
“And now I’m asking you to move out.”
“Our wedding—”
“Canceled.”
The word hit the room like glass breaking.
Meredith stared.
“You don’t mean that.”
“I do.”
“Because I slapped her once?”
Everett’s voice dropped.
“You still think this is about one slap.”
Meredith said nothing.
Everett called the head of household security.
“Marcus.”
“Yes, sir?”
“I need two officers upstairs.”
Meredith’s eyes widened.
“You’re having security escort me out?”
“Yes.”
“Do you have any idea how humiliating that is?”
Everett looked at Daisy.
“Yes.”
He understood humiliation differently now.
It was a child eating dinner silently because she was afraid her memories might bother an adult.
It was hiding bruises.
It was watching her mother’s things disappear one by one.
It was asking permission to grieve.
Security arrived.
Meredith glared at him.
“You will regret this.”
Everett’s expression never changed.
“No.”
He looked down at Daisy.
“I regret what I didn’t see.”
Meredith went upstairs with security to collect essentials.
Everett immediately called his family attorney, Rebecca Shaw.
She arrived forty-five minutes later.
By then, Daisy had changed into pajamas and was sitting at the breakfast table with hot chocolate in a plain white mug.
Everett had made it badly.
Too much powder.
Not enough milk.
Daisy drank every drop.
Rebecca placed a printed document in front of him.
“This came from Halden.”
Everett looked at the authorization.
His signature appeared at the bottom.
It looked almost perfect.
Almost.
“I didn’t sign this.”
Rebecca nodded.
“I know.”
“How?”
“The date.”
Everett frowned.
“What about it?”
“You were in Singapore.”
He looked closer.
The document had supposedly been signed physically at his Boston residence.
Rebecca continued.
“And there’s more.”
She turned the page.
“The portrait was included in the same consignment.”
Everett’s jaw tightened.
“What else?”
“Twenty-seven items.”
He stared.
“Twenty-seven?”
“Jewelry. Furniture. Artwork. Clothing. A set of antique silver. Several items identified as belonging to Natalie Sloan.”
Daisy was listening from the table.
Everett wished she wasn’t.
But he was finished hiding truths from her simply because they were uncomfortable.
“Total value?”
“Just under nine hundred thousand dollars.”
He looked toward the staircase.
“Where did the money go?”
“That’s what worries me.”
Rebecca placed another page down.
“The auction house wired the proceeds to an account listed as the Sloan Household Renewal Fund.”
“I’ve never heard of it.”
“I know.”
“Who controls it?”
Rebecca looked at him.
“Meredith.”
The front door closed downstairs.
Meredith was gone.
Everett stared at the account information.
The woman he had planned to marry had not been clearing clutter.
She had been liquidating Natalie’s belongings.
Quietly.
Systematically.
And using Everett’s name to do it.
Daisy appeared beside him.
She held the broken pendant chain.
“Daddy?”
He looked up.
“Can the police make her give Mommy’s things back?”
Everett took her hand.
“We’re going to get back everything we can.”
“What if we can’t?”
His throat tightened.
He looked at the blue-flowered mug pieces sitting carefully on a napkin.
“Then we keep what matters.”
Daisy looked confused.
“What?”
He touched her chest gently.
“The part nobody can sell.”
Her eyes filled.
Then she whispered something.
“Daddy?”
“Yes?”
“There’s something else Meredith took.”
Everett closed his eyes.
“What?”
Daisy looked toward Natalie’s old bedroom.
“The box Mommy said was only for me.”
Everett stared at her.
“What box?”
“The wooden one from under her bed.”
He stood.
Natalie had owned a cedar keepsake box.
Everett remembered it now.
Letters.
Photographs.
Family jewelry.
Things she had intended for Daisy.
He ran upstairs.
The space beneath the bed was empty.
And when Rebecca checked the auction inventory, the cedar box was not listed anywhere.
May you like
Whatever had been inside it hadn’t been sold through Halden.
It had simply disappeared.
