Chương 13
“Anyone can file a claim.”
“That is not reassuring.”
“It isn’t intended to be.”
I closed my eyes.
“What do I do?”
“Come to my office.”
“I’m two hours away.”
“Then we speak remotely with Michael and another attorney.”
“Another one?”
“Claire.”
I opened my eyes.
Her voice had softened.
“This has moved beyond a family ownership dispute.”
I looked at my father again.
He had not moved.
“What kind of attorney?”
“White-collar defense and financial fraud.”
The phrase made my stomach clench.
“For me?”
“For the situation.”
“That sounds like for me.”
“You may be a victim, a witness, a claimant, and someone whose name appears across questionable financial documents.”
“That is a terrible collection of nouns.”
“Yes.”
I laughed once, and then to my horror I started crying.
Not dramatically.
My eyes simply filled, and the tears kept coming while I sat in a locked car in the town I had once escaped with $355.
Rebecca stayed quiet.
I wiped my face with the sleeve of my blouse.
“I’m fine.”
“I didn’t say you weren’t.”
“I need five minutes.”
“Take them.”
“I’m still going to the wedding.”
“I assumed so.”
That irritated me enough to stop crying.
“You sound pleased about being right.”
“I’m a lawyer.”
“You’re impossible.”
“I’ve heard.”
When we ended the call, I sat in the car until my breathing slowed.
My father eventually stood.
He walked toward me, but stopped on the opposite side of the street when I shook my head.
He nodded once.
Then he turned toward the store.
I watched him go.
I had wanted him to apologize for twelve years.
Now that I knew how much there was to apologize for, the word seemed useless.
My phone buzzed again.
A text from Nathan.
Are you in town?
I stared at it before answering.
Yes.
His reply came immediately.
Can we meet somewhere public?
I sent him the name of a coffee shop near the courthouse.
He arrived twenty minutes later wearing dark slacks and a wrinkled white dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up.
He looked younger than his website photograph.
Also more exhausted.
He spotted me in the corner and stopped briefly before approaching.
“Claire?”
I stood.
“Nathan.”
We shook hands.
It felt absurdly formal.
He ordered coffee and did not drink it.
For a while, we sat across from each other with two paper cups between us.
“I heard the wedding rehearsal is tonight,” I said.
“It was.”
“Was?”
“We postponed it.”
Not canceled.
Not yet.
“How’s Madison?”
He looked at his coffee.
“I don’t know how to answer that.”
“Fair.”
“She’s with your mother.”
“That sounds safe.”
He looked up.
I expected offense.
Instead, he almost smiled.
“So I’ve been warned.”
“By Madison?”
“By everyone.”
I folded my hands.
“Why did you want to meet?”
“Because something happened after we spoke.”
My stomach tightened.
“What?”
“Madison gave me access to an old laptop she used for store records.”
I said nothing.
“My counsel has it now.”
“Good.”
“She says there are emails on it that explain some of what happened.”
“Explain or justify?”
“I asked the same question.”
I watched him.
“What did she say?”
“She said both.”
That sounded like Madison.
Nathan rubbed his eyes.
“She told me your father asked her to create the account in your name.”
“He told me she created it.”
“Those statements can both be true.”
“Yes.”
“She also says your mother knew.”
“Also believable.”
“And she says Stephen knew you had not signed at least one document.”
That was new.
“Which document?”
“The promissory note.”
My hand went still.
“He knew?”
“That is what Madison says.”
“Then why make the loan in my name?”
Nathan glanced around the coffee shop.
A teenager behind the counter was stacking lids.
Two women near the window were discussing somebody named Caleb who apparently refused to commit to anything.
The ordinariness made our conversation feel obscene.
“I don’t know.”
“Did Madison say?”
“She says your father needed money and Stephen would only lend if the debt had collateral.”
“My shares.”
“Yes.”
“But Stephen knew I wasn’t there.”
“Yes.”
“Then he knew the signature was fake.”
“According to Madison.”
I stared at him.
“So my uncle loaned my father money and used my property as collateral without my knowledge.”
“That is what she alleges.”
“Why would he do that?”
Nathan hesitated.
“Because he believed the shares would eventually revert to the family.”
I frowned.
“That doesn’t make sense.”
“I thought the same thing.”
“What does revert mean?”
“She said your mother had been telling people for years that you were legally estranged.”
I leaned back.
“That is not a legal status.”
“I know.”
“Estranged doesn’t mean dead.”
“I know.”
“Estranged doesn’t mean abandoned property.”
“I know.”
My voice had risen.
Nathan let me finish.
I took a breath.
“Sorry.”
“No need.”
“There is a pattern here where everyone decided distance erased ownership.”
“Yes.”
He turned the coffee cup slowly between his palms.
“And that may not be the worst part.”
I looked at him.
“What is worse?”
He pulled his phone from his pocket but did not hand it to me.
“My counsel advised me not to circulate copies yet.”
“That sentence never leads anywhere good.”
“No.”
He looked down at the screen.
“Madison showed me a scanned letter addressed to you.”
“From who?”
“Your grandfather.”
I stopped moving.
“My grandfather died before I left.”
“Yes.”
“What letter?”
“Dated about six months before his death.”
I stared at him.
“I never got a letter.”
“She says it was in the company records.”
“What does it say?”
Nathan’s expression changed.
Not pity exactly.
Something close enough that I hated it.
“Apparently, he was worried about how your mother treated you.”
My throat tightened.
“What?”
“He wrote that he wanted you to know your ownership interest was yours independently.”
I could hear my pulse.
May you like
“He said no one else had the right to surrender, borrow against, or transfer it once you became an adult.”
I looked away toward the window.
