Chương 9
“Why confess in the ballroom?” Elena asked.
Celeste looked toward the place where Julian had stood.
“Because he looked at me.”
“That is all?”
“He looked the way Adrian looked at me the last time we argued.”
Celeste’s voice thinned but did not break.
“I had spent four years telling myself Julian’s resentment was indulgence. Then I saw him understand, in front of everyone, that I had used his name. I could not let you believe he had chosen it.”
Elena studied her face.
The confession had been real. So had the scheme.
People were inconveniently capable of both guilt and love.
“What do you want now?” Elena asked.
“To avoid the destruction of the company.”
“Your position?”
“I have already lost it.”
“Your reputation?”
“That too.”
“Your son?”
Celeste looked down at her bare hands.
“I do not know whether I am permitted to want that.”
The answer did not soften Elena as much as Celeste may have hoped. It did, however, prevent hatred from becoming simple.
After the meeting, Elena walked through the vineyard alone.
The late-summer heat had faded. Dust clung to her shoes. Workers moved along the rows checking leaves, calling to one another in voices that carried across the slopes. One of the tractors needed a new belt and made a high whining sound near the olive grove.
At the northern block, Matteo crouched beside a vine and cut away a spotted leaf.
“You look worse than the mildew,” he said.
“Everyone has become very honest with me.”
“They think you appreciate it.”
“I did, before.”
He handed her the leaf. Pale residue marked the underside.
“Will the grapes be all right?” she asked.
“Most of them.”
“Most.”
“You dislike realistic answers.”
“I’m discovering that.”
They walked between the rows. Elena told him the vineyard remained legally secure. She did not explain the Mercer debt or the proposed holding company. Matteo listened without interrupting.
At the end of the row, he said, “Your father once tried to buy the land beyond the ridge.”
“I know.”
“He offered too little. The owner refused. Paolo called him a sentimental fool.”
“That sounds right.”
“Three months later your father offered more.”
“Also sounds right.”
“The owner still refused.”
Elena looked across the ridge, where another family’s vines followed a different pattern.
“Why are you telling me?”
“I don’t remember.”
She laughed.
Matteo smiled and returned to the leaves.
That evening, Elena listened to a voice message from Julian.
He had recorded it two days earlier and not sent it until then.
“I met with the independent directors,” he said. “I gave them the documents I have. They asked me to return to the board temporarily because my resignation leaves my mother’s faction with more voting influence until a special meeting can be held. I said no at first. Malcolm thinks that was emotionally satisfying and strategically stupid. He is probably right.”
A pause followed. Elena could hear traffic behind him.
“I am telling you because returning may look like I am protecting the family company. Part of me is. Four hundred people work there. Part of me also wants to prevent my mother from controlling the investigation. I have not decided. You do not need to advise me.”
Another pause.
“I miss you. That is not why I sent this.”
The message ended.
Elena replayed it once.
Then she called.
Julian answered before the second ring but said nothing.
“You should return to the board,” Elena said.
“All right.”
“Not because I told you.”
“No.”
“And not to protect your mother.”
“No.”
“Then why?”
He exhaled. “Because leaving the room whenever responsibility feels contaminated is how I helped create this.”
Elena sat on the edge of her childhood bed.
“Will you oppose the transfer publicly?”
“Yes.”
“Even if Mercer fails?”
“Yes.”
“Will the employees know why?”
“If the board permits disclosure.”
“There you go hiding behind procedure.”
“I can disclose my own actions. I cannot legally disclose every confidential detail.”
She knew he was right and disliked him for it.
“When is the meeting?”
“Tomorrow.”
“Are you in Florence?”
“Yes.”
“Stay there.”
“I will.”
She almost ended the call.
“Elena?”
“What?”
“Thank you for calling.”
She hung up without answering.
The Mercer board meeting lasted seven hours.
Julian returned as a nonvoting observer while attorneys argued over procedure. Celeste appeared by video with counsel. Two directors wanted to pursue the Bellandi consolidation despite the scandal, arguing that Elena might agree to revised terms. Three demanded Celeste’s permanent removal. One blamed Julian for creating public chaos by failing to manage his wife.
Julian told the director not to refer to Elena as a management problem.
The comment appeared in the official minutes because the secretary had not stopped typing.
By evening, the board removed Celeste as chief executive and appointed an interim officer. It also authorized negotiations with creditors and requested a proposal from Julian regarding the company’s future.
He called Elena afterward.
“They want me to lead a restructuring committee.”
“Do you want to?”
“No.”
“Will you?”
“I don’t know.”
Elena lay on the floor of the study surrounded by Paolo’s files. “What would Adrian do?”
Julian was silent for several seconds.
“He would say yes before asking what it required.”
“What would your mother do?”
“She would say yes and decide the requirements later.”
“What will you do?”
“I am trying to determine whether the company can survive without taking something from someone who did not offer it.”
Elena looked at the open email in which her father had considered joining the businesses.
“What if I offered something?”
Julian’s breathing changed. “Why would you?”
“Because Bellandi needs distribution. Mercer needs products with stable margins. A commercial partnership could help both.”
“Elena, you do not owe—”
“I am not offering the vineyard.”
“I know.”
“Do you?”
“Yes.”
She sat up. “A limited distribution agreement. No equity. No land. Performance requirements. Independent audits. The right to terminate if lenders attempt to attach our assets.”
May you like
Julian said nothing.
“You think it’s a bad idea.”
