Chapter 3 - Breakfast for a Liar
"Couldn't sleep?" Carlos asked from the doorway.
I held a glass beneath the faucet and prayed he couldn't see my hands trembling. "Thirsty."
He wore the blue shirt I'd bought him in Seattle. His hair was messy, his smile warm. Nothing on his face said he had arranged to send his wife to prison.
"You work too hard," he said, kissing my shoulder. "Singapore is lucky to have you."
"I thought you wanted to come."
"Next time. Mom and I have a short trip to Macau tomorrow afternoon." He leaned close enough that I could smell his peppermint toothpaste. "You don't mind, right?"
"Why would I?"
He studied my face a fraction too long. Then he smiled again and walked away.
I waited for the study door to close before opening my email on the old phone. June had sent a photograph of the supposed succession document. My name was there in a signature so convincing my stomach flipped. Under it sat a clause transferring my controlling vote to my spouse if I was detained on a criminal charge.
My late mother had warned me about documents that became traps when nobody read the small print. I had laughed then. I wasn't laughing now.
I opened the refrigerator and pulled out eggs, tomatoes, and the bread Marta liked toasted almost black. My body needed something normal to do while my mind raced. I'd promised breakfast before the flight. I was going to keep that promise, not for their sake, but so they wouldn't know anything had changed.
At three, I returned to the bedroom. The suitcase waited, innocent-looking, beneath the lamp. I checked the doorway, then opened the lining enough to see the sealed package. My first wild thought was to hide it in Marta's luggage and let her feel the same fear she'd prepared for me.
May you like
I carried the package into the guest room and placed it inside her open suitcase. My fingers were still on the zipper when I heard a slow, deliberate clap from the hallway.
"Well," said a woman's voice. "Now I know which one of you is telling the truth."
