Victor’s attorney, Gerald Pike, placed a warning hand near his client’s arm.
Victor ignored it.
He always ignored warnings when he believed everyone in the room belonged beneath him.
“My wife is trying to convince the court that she helped build Hale & Ember.”
My stomach tightened at the name.
Hale & Ember.
Three restaurants.
One catering division.
A line of bottled sauces.
A private dining club downtown.
Annual revenue Victor loved telling reporters had crossed $18 million the previous year.
His face appeared in magazines beside words like visionary, relentless, self-made.
Self-made.
I had come to hate those two words more than almost any others in the English language.
Judge Monroe glanced toward Grace.
“That is one of Mrs. Hale’s claims, yes.”
Victor chuckled.
“Claire carried things.”
Grace’s pen stopped moving.
Victor continued.
“She cleaned tables. She unpacked deliveries. She did little errands because she wanted to feel useful.”
