Chương 6
Grant remained standing.
“Dad says messages are missing from his phone,” she said.
Grant’s gaze moved toward the corridor.
“Did your mother delete them?”
“I don’t know.”
“Did you?”
“No.”
“Were you with her when she took his phone?”
“For a few minutes.”
“What did she do?”
“She put it in her bag.”
“Did she unlock it?”
“I didn’t see.”
“Does she know his passcode?”
Grant did not answer.
Mara put her shoe back on.
“How much of this do you expect me to discover one sentence at a time?”
“He used the same code for years.”
“And your mother knew it.”
“Yes.”
“Did you?”
“Yes.”
Mara stood.
Grant caught himself before reaching for her.
“I never opened his phone,” he said.
“That is a very specific denial.”
“Because I know how this sounds.”
“No, you know how it is.”
A custodian pushed a cart past them, the plastic wheels squeaking at regular intervals. Grant waited until the cart turned the corner.
“My mother was afraid,” he said. “Your father had called an emergency board meeting. If he presented the transfers without context, I would have been removed. The company could have reported me.”
“Should it have?”
Grant stared at the coffee cup.
“I didn’t take the money to buy a boat.”
Mara’s anger arrived so cleanly that her hands stopped shaking.
“You keep describing what you didn’t do.”
“The project was real.”
“Was the authorization real?”
“Mom signed the transfer.”
“Did she have the right?”
“She believed the trust agreement allowed temporary advances.”
“Did the trust’s lawyer agree?”
“No.”
“Did Dad?”
“No.”
“Did the board?”
“No.”
Grant’s fingers dented the paper cup.
“I was going to repay it.”
“With profits that never came.”
“The project isn’t dead.”
“My father almost died while confronting you.”
“You think I don’t know that?”
His voice rose, and several people in the waiting area looked over. Grant lowered it immediately.
“I see it every time I close my eyes,” he said. “He was holding a glass. It slipped, and he looked at me like I had done something to his body.”
Mara said nothing.
“I called 911,” he continued. “I got the dispatcher. I unlocked the front gate. I moved the table so the paramedics could get through. Mom kept saying it was his blood pressure. I told her it was a stroke.”
“You did the right thing for five minutes.”
His face flinched.
Mara wished she could take the sentence back. Not because it was false, but because it was designed to wound.
Grant sat down again. The coffee cup folded in his hand, spilling a thin brown line across his knuckles.
He stared at it.
Mara took two napkins from the dispenser and placed them beside him.
Neither of them mentioned the gesture.
“I need your phone,” she said.
He looked up.
“I want to see every message between you and your mother from the past week.”
“Mara.”
“You can say no.”
“You’ll assume the worst.”
“I’m already doing that. The phone gives you a chance to change my mind.”
He wiped his hand. “Some of it is company business.”
“My father’s money is company business now?”
“It involves employees. Confidential plans.”
“Then show Claire.”
Grant leaned back and looked toward the ceiling. A television mounted in the corner played a muted weather report. Colored bands moved over a map no one was watching.
After a long pause, he removed his phone.
He unlocked it and handed it to her.
The thread with Vivian contained dozens of messages. Most were ordinary: reminders about a dinner, a complaint about a supplier, a photograph of a table arrangement. Then, two days before Leonard’s collapse, the tone changed.
Vivian: He has demanded the full trust ledger.
Grant: What did you tell him?
Vivian: That the accounting team is reconciling it.
Grant: We need time.
Vivian: Stop writing about this.
The next day:
Grant: Has he called outside counsel?
Vivian: I’m handling Leonard.
Grant: That is not an answer.
Vivian: Do not come to the house until I ask.
On the morning of the stroke:
Grant: He emailed the board secretary.
Vivian: I know.
Grant: What are you going to do?
Vivian: What I should have done when he began this campaign.
Grant: Don’t push him. His BP has been bad.
Vivian: Then perhaps he will finally sit down.
Mara scrolled further.
At 2:18 p.m., twelve minutes after the ambulance had been called:
Vivian: Bring me his briefcase before Mara arrives.
Grant: Why?
Vivian: There are medical documents she will misunderstand.
Grant: I’m with EMS.
Vivian: Then send Paul.
Grant: No.
At 2:31:
Vivian: Delete this thread.
Grant had not replied.
Mara lifted her eyes.
“I didn’t delete it,” he said.
“No.”
“I told her no.”
“You also didn’t tell me.”
“I didn’t know what was in the briefcase.”
“Did someone bring it to her?”
“I don’t think so.”
“You don’t think.”
“Paul said he never found it.”
“Who is Paul?”
“Mom’s driver.”
Mara handed back the phone.
Grant looked at the messages as though they had been written by someone with his name.
“I should have shown you,” he said.
“Yes.”
“I should have called the board myself.”
“Yes.”
“I was afraid.”
“I know.”
He looked up, perhaps expecting comfort in her understanding.
Mara gave him none.
Claire returned from the elevators holding a slim legal pad. “Vivian’s attorney has notified us that she intends to proceed with an emergency petition tomorrow morning.”
Grant stood. “Can she do that?”
“She can file. Whether she gets what she wants is another question.”
“What does she claim?”
“That Leonard’s revocation was the product of confusion and undue influence by Mara.”
Mara stared at her. “I wasn’t in the room.”
“Facts and allegations often meet later than anyone would prefer.”
Grant rubbed his forehead.
May you like
Claire looked from him to Mara. “There is something else. Leonard’s phone appears to have been accessed several times after he was admitted. His hospital portal password was reset.”
“Can they tell by whom?” Mara asked.
