"Then he can talk to me."
"No."
Anna's hand tightened.
"I need to."
Thomas studied her.
Then nodded.
"But not alone."
Charles knocked.
Thomas opened the door.
"Mr. Reed?"
"Yes."
"I'm Charles Whitmore."
"I know."
Charles glanced past him.
His eyes found Anna.
For one second, something strange crossed his face.
Relief.
Not anger.
Relief.
That frightened her more.
"Anna."
She said nothing.
Charles removed his hat.
"You look well."
Thomas's expression hardened.
"State your business."
Charles smiled faintly.
"I came to speak privately with my former fiancée."
"That won't happen."
Charles looked at Anna.
"Is that what you want?"
Months earlier, Anna would have tried to prevent conflict.
She would have softened the answer.
Now she said, "Yes."
The smile disappeared.
Charles entered only after Thomas allowed it.
They sat in the parlor.
Lily had been sent upstairs but was almost certainly listening through the floor.
Charles looked around.
"So this is where you've been."
Anna's skin crawled at the familiarity in his tone.
"What do you want?"
"You know."
"I don't."
"The money."
"I took nothing."
Charles's jaw moved.
"Anna."
"Don't say my name as though I'm confused."
Thomas remained near the doorway.
Charles glanced at him.
"You should be careful, Reed."
Thomas did not respond.
Charles looked back at Anna.
"I don't want this to become uglier."
"You accused me of theft."
"I had no choice."
Anna stared.
"There is always a choice before a lie."
Something flickered in Charles's eyes.
He leaned forward.
"Your father left papers."
Anna's pulse changed.
There.
Not money.
Papers.
She forced herself to remain still.
"What papers?"
"His account records."
"Why do you care?"
"Because they concern my family."
"Then perhaps your family should have kept proper records."
Charles's face tightened.
Thomas noticed.
Anna continued.
"You didn't come seven hundred miles because you believed I stole nine hundred dollars."
Charles stood.
"Don't be foolish."
Thomas immediately stepped forward.
Charles stopped.
Anna's fear was becoming clarity.
"What was Papa supposed to confirm?"
Charles stared at her.
"The January payment."
Color left his face.
That was enough.
Anna whispered, "You never credited it."
Charles recovered.
"You don't know what you're talking about."
"You told me Papa still owed more than seven hundred dollars."
"He did."
"He wrote that he paid four hundred sixty in January."
"Your father was ill."