Part 6
Nathan’s face tightened.
“Why?”
Margaret glanced toward Emma before answering.
“Because Victoria knew about Martin’s medical bills. She offered an advance against my salary. Then she said the foundation could treat it as a hardship grant if I helped keep the West Ridge work moving.”
Graham closed his eyes.
He remembered signing the policy that permitted emergency grants for staff. It had been his suggestion after a groundskeeper’s house burned down years earlier. He had thought the rule decent. He had never imagined decency could be used as a leash.
“How much did you receive?” Nathan asked.
“Forty-two thousand.”
“From the foundation?”
“Yes.”
“For your husband’s surgery?”
“And the insurance balance.”
“Was it authorized?”
“Victoria authorized it.”
“Did the board?”
“No.”
Victoria faced Nathan.
“I helped her family. If you intend to condemn me for that, say so plainly.”
“You did not help me,” Margaret said.
Victoria’s expression hardened.
“You bought the right to frighten me.”
The fire settled with a low rush.
Emma reached for Graham’s hand. He gave it to her.
Nathan stared at the table, at the plates no one had removed and the candles that had burned down into uneven pools of wax.
“What is West Ridge?” he asked.
Victoria did not answer.
He looked up.
“What is it?”
“A development partnership.”
“For what?”
“The retreat center.”
“Where is the land?”
“Under negotiation.”
“Then what did four hundred thousand dollars buy?”
“Design work. Preliminary engineering. Access rights.”
“From a company that appears to have no employees, no office, and a mailing address attached to a condominium in Denver?”
Victoria’s face showed surprise before she could prevent it.
Nathan noticed.
“So you know what was in the email,” she said.
“I spent thirteen hours in airports. I had time.”
“You should have called me.”
“And given you time to do what?”
The question struck harder than an accusation because he did not finish it for her.
Victoria walked to the table and rested both hands on the back of her chair.
“You have spent most of the year away,” she said. “Graham attends one board meeting out of three and spends the others talking about how the foundation operated when your mother was alive. Margaret panics whenever an invoice includes more than one attachment. Someone had to make decisions.”
“Did you create West Ridge Development?”
“No.”
“Do you control it?”
“No.”
“Do you know who does?”
She looked at him.
Nathan waited.
Graham felt Emma’s small fingers shift in his palm. She was exhausted. Her breathing had slowed, but each new question made her shoulders tense again.
“This conversation is over for tonight,” Victoria said.
“No,” Nathan replied.
“You are not thinking clearly.”
“I have never thought more clearly.”
“You have been traveling for two days.”
“One.”
“You look terrible.”
“That may be true.”
“You’re humiliating me in front of a child.”
Graham’s hand tightened around Emma’s.
Nathan’s face went flat.
“You accused that child of stealing a family heirloom because she saw a document you wanted destroyed.”
“I did not.”
“The bracelet was on your wrist nine minutes after she came downstairs.”
“She could have returned it before the photograph.”
“You said it was missing until after the reception.”
“I misspoke.”
“You said she ran from your room.”
“She did.”
Emma shook her head.
“You told me to go downstairs.”
Victoria looked at her. “You ran.”
“No.”
“Emma.”
“I walked.”
“Do not argue with me over a word.”
“It isn’t just a word,” Graham said.
Victoria’s eyes found his.
“No,” he continued. “Not tonight.”
He had corrected Emma for small lies when she was younger. Everyone did. She had once denied eating three powdered doughnuts while sugar covered the front of her sweater. She had blamed a broken lamp on an open window despite the fact that the window had been locked. Graham knew the particular stiffness that entered her voice when she tried to bend reality away from consequences.
He did not hear it now.
“I watched her come downstairs,” Margaret said. “She was walking.”
Victoria stared at her.
Margaret took off her glasses again, cleaned one lens with the edge of her jacket, and put them back on. The familiar, unnecessary motion seemed to steady her.
“You came down behind her,” she continued. “You had the bracelet on. You asked me whether Graham had seen the West Ridge page. I said I didn’t know. Then you went to the library with Emma’s program.”
Nathan leaned forward.
“What happened in the library?”
“I don’t know. The door was closed.”
Victoria looked toward the dark windows.
Graham remembered the six minutes she had disappeared before dinner, carrying the folded program and her champagne glass. When she returned, the program was gone. The jewelry box was in her hand. At the time, he had assumed she had gone upstairs to retrieve it.
Nathan pushed Margaret’s phone across the table.
“Is there a photograph after six-twenty-one?”
She unlocked it and scrolled.
“At six-thirty-four.”
The image showed the dinner table before they sat down. The open jewelry box rested beside Victoria’s plate.
The bracelet was inside.
Nathan looked at the timestamp.
“So within thirteen minutes, the bracelet moved from your wrist to this box. You carried the box into the room and told everyone Emma had stolen the bracelet and returned it.”
Victoria’s gaze remained fixed on the photograph.
“You do not know what happened in those thirteen minutes.”
“No. Tell me.”
She said nothing.
Emma pulled on Graham’s hand.
He bent close.
“I’m tired.”
“I know.”
“Can I go upstairs now?”
He glanced at Nathan.
Nathan heard.
He stood and crossed to his daughter.
“I’ll take you.”
Emma looked toward the doorway, where Nathan’s black travel bag still sat beside melting snow.
“Are you leaving again?”
The question stopped him.
“No.”
“Tomorrow?”
“No.”
“After breakfast?”
May you like
Nathan’s mouth opened. He closed it.
Graham had watched his son negotiate contracts worth more than the lodge without needing a second to answer. Yet he could not promise a ten-year-old that he would still be present after breakfast without discovering how many previous promises stood behind the new one.
