Evelyn felt a rush of anger, but beneath it lay a sharper, more enduring grief.
Daniel had done more than tolerate his wife’s disrespect.
He had arranged for other people to enter the house where Henry’s memory remained present in nearly every room.
His office was still there, containing notarized documents, photographs, books filled with handwritten notes, and the letters he’d written to Evelyn during their forty years together.
Her son knew how important those things were.
Yet he’d chosen to disregard them.
“My house is not a wedding gift,” Evelyn said.
Claire responded with a dismissive laugh.
“Oh, please, don’t be dramatic. No one is taking anything from you. We’re only going to use what you don’t need anymore.”
Evelyn turned toward the hotel’s chief of security, who was standing near the ballroom entrance.
“Call security at the Aspen estate,” she ordered clearly. “Then call the Aspen police department. Tell them there are people trying to enter private property without authorization.”
