“What’s in that?” Mark demanded.
Isabelle did not answer him.
She stepped out of the Escalade and into the rain, holding the black folder beneath her coat.
The glass doors of the office tower opened before she reached them.
Helen Price emerged under the brass awning in a charcoal suit, her silver-streaked hair pinned neatly at the back of her head.
She carried no umbrella.
She did not need one.
A building attendant followed two steps behind her with a large black umbrella already raised.
Helen’s eyes moved from Isabelle to the Escalade, where Mark was leaning across the center console to see what was happening.
“Are you certain?” Helen asked.
Isabelle looked through the open rear door.
Camille was still in the front seat.
One hand rested near Mark’s knee.
Her lipstick was perfect.
Her expression was no longer amused.
Mark stared at Isabelle as though the correct combination of anger and authority might force her back into the vehicle.
“Get in the car,” he said.
“Now.”
Isabelle turned to Helen.
“I’m certain.”
Helen opened the folder.
The first document was the divorce petition.
Isabelle signed where the yellow tab indicated.
Mark shoved open his door and stepped onto the curb.
“Isabelle, stop.”
She signed the second page.
It revoked Mark’s authority to act on behalf of the Anderson Family Trust in any personal property matter.
He crossed the sidewalk quickly, rain darkening the shoulders of his tuxedo.
“You have no idea what you’re doing.”
Helen looked up.
“Mrs.
Anderson knows exactly what she is doing.”
Mark stopped when he recognized her.
Helen Price had represented Isabelle’s father for twenty-three years.
She had structured the trust after his death and sat quietly through several board meetings while Mark spoke over her as though she were an elderly relative who had wandered into the wrong room.
His eyes dropped to the folder.
“Why is she here?”
“I asked her to come,” Isabelle said.
Camille stepped out of the Escalade, shielding her hair with one hand.
“Mark, can we please go? She’s obviously trying to scare you.”
Helen removed a third document.
“This authorizes immediate notice to the penthouse management company,” she said to Isabelle.
“Your personal access remains unchanged.
Mr.
Anderson’s resident authorization will terminate upon service of the marital petition.”
Mark gave a short laugh, but his face had tightened.
“You cannot lock me out of my own home.”
Helen’s expression remained neutral.
“The penthouse is owned by a residential holding company wholly controlled by the Anderson Family Trust.
You were granted occupancy as Isabelle’s spouse.”
Camille slowly lowered her hand from her hair.
Mark stared at Helen.
“That is a technicality.”
“No,” Helen said.
“It is ownership.”
The rain struck the awning in a hard, steady rhythm.
