I took my phone out of my pocket and placed it on the table next to the laptop.
“Chloe called me an hour ago,” I said.
My mother frowned, her shoulder dropping slightly.
“Chloe would not speak to you without my permission,” she said.
“She didn’t speak to me,” I said. “She sent me a recording from the second phone line on our family plan.”
I pressed the screen, and the speakerphone filled the high-ceilinged room.
Mark’s voice came through clearly, loud and breathless, accompanied by the background clatter of a restaurant.
“We just need the old woman to sign the equity line on the brownstone,” Mark’s voice said from the speaker.
My mother did not move, but her face lost its remaining color.
“She thinks she’s running the show,” Mark’s voice continued, followed by a sharp laugh. “But she’s just an old fool with a checkbook we can bleed until the Florida papers go through.”
