Chapter 3 - THE PRICE OF GETTING RID OF ME
“I no longer live here?”
I heard myself say the words, but they did not sound like mine.
Arthur turned the property filing around.
The address was correct.
My address.
The home Robert and I had bought when Daniel was five.
The home where I had cared for Robert while cancer reduced a strong man to ninety-eight pounds.
And beside the word VACANT was my son’s signature.
Daniel reached for the paper.
Arthur pulled it away.
“It was part of a preliminary submission,” Daniel said.
“You declared the property vacant.”
“It was going to be vacant.”
Lauren stared at him.
“When?”
No one answered.
She looked at the suitcase.
Then at me.
Then back at her husband.
“You planned this before Friday.”
Daniel’s mouth tightened.
“Obviously.”
Lauren flinched as if he had slapped her.
I almost felt sorry for her.
Almost.
“You knew exactly when you were putting me out,” I said.
“I was trying to create a timeline.”
“For removing your mother.”
“For closing a transaction that could save my company.”
There it was.
Finally.
The thing beneath everything.
Not the yoga studio.
Not needing more space.
Not concern about an aging mother rattling around in a large house.
Money.
Arthur sat down.
“How much did the developer advance you?”
Lauren turned.
“Advance?”
Daniel’s face changed.
That was the second time that morning I watched him realize one of his secrets was about to become public.
Arthur answered.
“One hundred eighty thousand dollars.”
Lauren stared at her husband.
“You already took money?”
“It was a good-faith deposit.”
“Deposits go into escrow.”
“This one was structured differently.”
Arthur gave him a long look.
“Because you represented yourself as having authority to sell.”
Daniel’s voice rose.
“I was the beneficiary under the will I had!”
“The superseded will.”
“I didn’t know probate would become complicated.”
“You knew enough to hide Robert’s actual attorney from your mother.”
Daniel shoved his hands into his pockets.
For the first time, he looked less angry than exhausted.
“What do you want me to say?”
“The truth would be refreshing,” I said.
He looked at me.
“Fine.”
His voice dropped.
“My company has fourteen days of cash.”
Lauren sat down slowly.
“What?”
“We lost the Rivergate financing.”
“You said it was delayed.”
“It was pulled.”
“When?”
“Six weeks ago.”
“And the development agreement?”
“I needed the deposit.”
Lauren stared at him.
“What did you use it for?”
“Payroll. Contractors. Interest.”
“All of it?”
Daniel hesitated.
Arthur noticed.
“So not all of it.”
Daniel’s jaw tightened.
“I paid what had to be paid.”
“Which means?”
“Things were moved around.”
I almost laughed.
Robert used to say that whenever someone started describing money as being moved around, it usually meant someone didn’t want you to know where it went.
I looked at Daniel.
“How many people work for you?”
“Forty-two families depend on the company.”
That number struck me.
Forty-two.
Not employees.
Families.
He knew exactly how to say it.
“You’re telling me that if I refuse to leave my home, forty-two families lose their income?”
“I’m telling you this is bigger than you wanting to prove a point.”
Arthur leaned back.
“Careful.”
Daniel looked at him.
“What?”
“Your mother remaining in her home is not a point.”
Daniel’s shoulders fell.
For a few seconds, he said nothing.
Then he looked at me.
“The first forty thousand I took from Dad’s investment account paid payroll.”
I remembered Robert’s letter.
That part was true.
“Our construction lender froze our line because one of our partners declared bankruptcy. I had people with mortgages. Kids. Medical bills.”
“You could have asked your father.”
“I did.”
That surprised me.
Daniel saw it.
“He said no.”
Arthur frowned.
“That is not what Robert told me.”
Daniel laughed bitterly.
“Of course not.”
“What did he say?” I asked.
Daniel looked at the window.
“He said he would loan the company money if I shut down Rivergate, sold two parcels, and stopped personally guaranteeing new projects.”
“That sounded sensible.”
“It would have destroyed the company.”
“Instead you stole from him.”
He winced.
“Yes.”
The answer was so direct that I almost missed it.
“Yes.”
Not borrowed.
Not moved.
Not temporarily used.
Stole.
He sat down.
“I told myself I’d replace it before he noticed.”
“The first forty thousand?”
“Yes.”
“And the ninety?”
“Rivergate needed another capital call.”
“And the rest?”
He looked at his hands.
“The rest is harder to defend.”
At least he knew that.
Lauren suddenly removed a diamond bracelet from her wrist.
She placed it on the table.
“Sell this.”
Daniel stared at her.
“What?”
“The bracelet. Sell it.”
“It’s worth maybe twelve thousand.”
“My engagement ring too.”
“Lauren—”
“The Aspen condo.”
His eyes snapped toward hers.
“No.”
She laughed in disbelief.
“You’re putting your mother out of her house to save your company, but the vacation condo is untouchable?”
“It’s leveraged.”
“How leveraged?”
Daniel looked away.
Lauren stood.
“Oh my God.”
She walked into the living room.
I watched her stop beside Robert’s piano.
Her reflection appeared faintly in the black lacquer.
For the first time, I wondered how many lies my son had told her too.
That did not erase the way she spoke to me.
It did not erase We need the space.
But betrayal had apparently been living in more than one room of this house.
Arthur touched my arm.
“Margaret, the development contract can be challenged. Robert’s new will prevents the sale.”
“What happens to the deposit?”
Arthur glanced at Daniel.
“It will have to be returned.”
I already knew from Daniel’s face.
“You don’t have it.”
“No.”
“How much?”
“Not enough.”
I closed my eyes.
One hundred eighty thousand dollars.
My son had gambled money he did not have on getting me out before anyone discovered the real will.
I turned toward Robert’s study.
The door was open.
His reading glasses still sat beside the lamp.
His wristwatch lay near the edge of the desk where I had seen it days earlier.
Beside it sat the handful of photographs I had removed from the broken wooden box.
Something caught my eye.
A small brass key.
I had thought it belonged to the box.
Now I noticed two letters stamped into its head.
H.W.
Hayes Woodworks.
I picked it up.
Daniel went completely still.
“What is that?”
I looked at him.
“You tell me.”
He didn’t answer.
Robert had kept a private office above the old workshop long after he stopped working every day.
A room Daniel complained was full of outdated files and useless notebooks.
Thirty minutes later, Arthur and I drove there.
Daniel followed.
So did Lauren.
The workshop smelled exactly as it had when I was thirty.
Cedar.
Oil.
Sawdust.
Robert.
Upstairs, the brass key opened the bottom drawer of his old drafting cabinet.
Inside was a blue ledger.
And one envelope.
Daniel’s name was written across it.
Beneath his name, Robert had added six words.
After you tell your mother everything.
May you like
I turned toward my son.
Daniel’s face had gone white.
