Chapter 3 - Dinner With the Man From the BathroomMason corrected himself quickly.
“Wait. Today?”
Owen looked at the cuff link.
“That’s what I asked.”
“No. Not today.”
“You been here this week?”
Another pause.
“Monday.”
Claire felt the blood drain from her face.
Monday she had actually been in Boston.
That gave Mason a reason to have been inside without her.
Owen frowned.
“Why?”
“I dropped off the Fairfield projections.”
“You could’ve emailed them.”
“I was nearby.”
Owen looked toward Claire.
She held her wine glass with both hands to keep them from shaking.
“Claire wasn’t home Monday.”
“I know.”
“I left them with Maria.”
Owen nodded slowly.
“That must be it.”
Mason laughed.
“Must be what?”
“Found one of your cuff links.”
“Seriously?”
“Hallway outside my bedroom.”
Claire almost closed her eyes.
Mason didn’t answer.
Then:
“I probably used the upstairs bathroom.”
Claire stared at the phone.
Owen frowned.
“My bathroom?”
“Guest bathroom.”
“Right.”
A beat.
“Pick it up tomorrow.”
“Will do.”
Owen disconnected.
He looked at Claire.
“Mystery solved.”
She smiled.
“Apparently.”
But it wasn’t.
The guest bathroom was on the opposite side of the hallway.
A cuff link dropped outside the master bedroom did not fit Mason’s story.
Owen didn’t mention that.
Claire noticed.
The next evening, Owen did something worse.
He invited Mason to dinner.
“Mason?” Claire repeated.
“Yeah.”
“Why?”
“Because I’m cooking steaks and he’s bringing the Napa bottle he’s been hoarding.”
Claire stared at him.
“You two saw each other all day.”
“So?”
“So nothing.”
Owen smiled.
“You don’t like Mason now?”
Her throat tightened.
“I barely know him.”
That was the ugliest lie yet.
At 7:30, the doorbell rang.
Claire wanted to disappear.
Mason entered wearing a navy sweater and dark trousers.
No white shirt.
No silver cuff links.
He handed Owen wine.
Then looked at Claire.
“Hey.”
“Hi.”
Nothing in his face suggested that forty-eight hours earlier he had been lying beside her in the bed upstairs.
Owen slapped him lightly on the shoulder.
“Your property.”
He held out the cuff link.
Mason took it.
“Thought I lost this months ago.”
Claire looked at him sharply.
Owen did too.
“You said Monday.”
Mason froze for a fraction of a second.
“I meant I thought I lost the pair months ago. Then I found them.”
He laughed.
“Long week.”
Owen smiled.
“Apparently.”
Dinner became psychological torture.
Owen was cheerful.
Mason was relaxed.
Claire barely ate.
They talked about college.
Deals.
A disastrous ski trip in Utah.
An old girlfriend Mason claimed had once thrown his clothes from a balcony.
Then Owen asked:
“You ever sleep with a married woman?”
Claire’s fork stopped.
Mason looked at him.
Owen laughed.
“Don’t look terrified. We were talking about Brandon Wells today.”
Mason smiled.
“Right.”
“Guy apparently had an affair with a client’s wife.”
Claire reached for water.
Owen continued.
“Destroyed the account. Marriage too, I assume.”
Mason shrugged.
“People do stupid things.”
“Would you?”
Claire could hear her heartbeat.
Mason took a drink.
“No.”
Owen nodded.
“Good answer.”
Then he looked at Claire.
“What about you?”
She stared.
“What about me?”
“Could you forgive someone for cheating?”
Mason’s eyes remained on his plate.
Claire forced a laugh.
“This is a cheerful dinner.”
“I’m curious.”
“No.”
Owen’s expression became unreadable.
“No, you couldn’t?”
“I don’t know.”
“You just said no.”
“I mean, I’ve never been in that situation.”
Owen held her gaze.
“Hopefully you never are.”
The conversation shifted.
Claire barely heard it.
After dinner, Owen opened another bottle.
“I need something from the office.”
He disappeared down the hall.
The instant he was gone, Mason leaned toward Claire.
“He knows.”
She whispered:
“You don’t know that.”
“He knows.”
“Then why hasn’t he said anything?”
“Because Owen doesn’t confront problems until he understands them.”
Claire’s stomach tightened.
“How do you know?”
“I’ve worked with him fifteen years.”
Footsteps returned.
They separated.
Owen came back holding a folder.
“Mason, this yours?”
He placed it on the table.
Mason stared.
The Fairfield projections.
The folder he claimed he had dropped off Monday.
“I found it downstairs,” Owen said.
Mason nodded.
“Yeah.”
Owen opened it.
“Funny thing.”
“What?”
“The print timestamp says Tuesday.”
Mason’s face changed.
Claire felt cold.
Tuesday.
The day Mason had been in Claire’s bedroom.
Owen continued casually:
“So either our printer learned time travel…”
He smiled.
“…or you weren’t here Monday.”
Mason said nothing.
Claire looked at her husband.
For the first time, she saw it.
He knew they were lying.
Maybe not everything.
But enough.
Owen closed the folder.
Then smiled as if none of it mattered.
“Dessert?”
Mason left at ten.
Claire waited until the front door closed.
Then turned toward Owen.
“Why did you do that?”
He looked genuinely confused.
“Do what?”
“Interrogate him.”
“I asked about a file.”
“You were testing him.”
Owen stared at her for several seconds.
Then:
“Interesting choice of word.”
Claire immediately regretted it.
Owen picked up the wine glasses.
“I’m tired.”
He walked toward the kitchen.
“Owen.”
He stopped.
She wanted to confess.
The words came all the way to her throat.
Then fear won.
“Nothing.”
He nodded.
“Good night.”
Claire remained alone in the dining room.
Her phone vibrated.
Mason.
HE KNOWS SOMETHING.
Then another message.
DO NOT CONFESS.
Claire typed:
WHY?
His response came immediately.
BECAUSE IF OWEN STARTS DIGGING INTO US, HE’LL FIND THE MONEY.
Claire stared at the screen.
Then she typed the question Mason had avoided for days.
WHAT MONEY?
This time he answered.
May you like
$18.7 MILLION IS IN AN ACCOUNT UNDER YOUR NAME.
Claire stopped breathing.
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