Chapter 3 - The Weight of Metal
Mason stared at the platinum band resting in his mother's palm.
The jovial, practiced warmth drained from his face so fast it left him looking hollowed out. He reached out with a trembling index finger, as if touching the metal could prove it was a trick.
"What... what is this?" Mason asked, his voice dropping an octave, losing its confident resonance. "Where did you get this?"
"She handed it to me," Victoria whispered, her voice cracking with a fierce, suppressed fury that Mason had never heard from his mother in his entire life. "Not five minutes ago. Right before she walked out those doors into the freezing rain."
A cold sweat broke out across the back of Mason's neck. He looked from the ring up to his mother's eyes, trying to force a laugh that stuck like dry ash in his throat.
"Walked out? What are you talking about? Emily doesn't drive at night, she's exhausted, she's thirty-five weeks along—"
"She didn't take a car, Mason. She got into a town car waiting at the curb," Victoria interrupted, her voice rising, shaking with a cold, righteous indignation. "She looked at me, she gave me her wedding ring, and she told me: When he asks where I went, tell him he was dancing."
The ballroom music swelled in the distance, a cheerful jazz standard playing to a room full of people sipping champagne, completely unaware of the tectonic shift happening near the stairs.
Mason felt the floor tilt beneath his polished Italian leather shoes.
"No," Mason muttered, shaking his head in frantic denial. "No, she's playing games. She's hormonal, she's making a point because I spent the evening with Camille—it's business, Mom, you know how these galas work! I'll call her driver, I'll send security—"
"Call her!" Victoria shouted, her eyes blazing with a mother's fury. "Go ahead, Mason! Call her phone right now and tell me what you hear!"
Mason fumbled frantically inside his tuxedo jacket, pulling out his smartphone with shaking fingers. He tapped his screen, pulling up Emily’s contact card, and hit call.
The phone rang once. Twice.
Then came the metallic, mechanical tone of an automated carrier recording: The subscriber you have dialed is currently unavailable. All calls are being automatically routed to voicemail.
He tried again. Same result.
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Then, a small notification banner popped up at the top of his screen. An automated text message from a secure legal server: Notice of Service: Temporary Restraining Order and Asset Preservation Directive filed under Docket #8842-NY.
Mason froze, his breath catching in his throat.
