“Operational provisions?” Margaret repeated.
Claire glanced down at the cream contract. “You should pick that up. It’s still a valid termination.”
Adrian stared at her.
“You fired me from the Bennett Family Office,” she continued. “You terminated my employment as estate director. The signature appears complete.”
“This is our home.”
“No,” Claire said. “It is the home you were permitted to occupy.”
Margaret rose too quickly. The chair shifted against the rug. She steadied herself with one hand, then seemed angered that anyone had seen her need to.
“My husband built this house.”
“Your husband’s grandfather bought it in 1938.”
“Do not correct me in my own library.”
Claire’s gaze moved over the shelves she had cataloged after a burst pipe destroyed two hundred volumes. She had selected the humidity monitors hidden behind the molding. She had negotiated the insurance rider on the first editions. She had spent an entire Christmas Eve on the floor beside the fireplace with a conservator from Boston, separating damp pages with blotting paper while Margaret complained that the fans were disturbing dinner.