Chương 8
“Did anyone see him?”
“The archivist may have.”
“Which one?”
“Naomi.”
Naomi Reed had worked for their father for twenty-eight years and considered computers an unfortunate interruption in the life of paper. She also disliked Grant with a steadiness that made her both valuable and dangerous as a witness.
“Do not speak to her about this yet,” Evelyn said.
Mateo nodded.
“And do not delete anything.”
“I wouldn’t.”
“I believe you. I need you to hear it anyway.”
After he left, Evelyn called Miriam.
Miriam listened, then said, “This is useful, not conclusive.”
“You say that as if you have it printed on a card.”
“I should.”
“Can we inspect the disposal room?”
“It is your property.”
“That wasn’t my question.”
“We can preserve it. We should not rummage around pretending to be forensic investigators.”
“I know how to open a box.”
“You also threw a glass.”
Evelyn hung up on her.
Miriam called back immediately.
“That,” she said when Evelyn answered, “was a normal human reaction and poor legal strategy.”
Evelyn laughed before she could stop herself. The laugh hurt her ribs, where the seat belt had left a deep soreness that had not fully faded.
They arranged for a records specialist to examine the room the next morning.
By evening, Vivian’s board notice had produced four private messages to Evelyn.
Two were expressions of support written so cautiously they could later be interpreted as neutrality. One board member asked whether the foundation should postpone its autumn grants. Another suggested that Evelyn temporarily step back “for everyone’s confidence.”
Claire wanted to reply to all of them.
Evelyn replied to none.
At seven, Grant appeared at the east gate.
The assistant announced him through the wall speaker while Evelyn was eating soup in the library.
“Grant Hart is requesting guest entry.”
Evelyn looked at the screen. His face appeared in the gate camera, pale under the cold security light. He had changed clothes but not expression.
Claire stood from the sofa. “Don’t let him in.”
“He walked here?”
“He probably took a car service.”
Grant pressed the call button again.
“Evelyn,” his voice came through the speaker, distorted slightly by the intercom. “We need to speak alone.”
Claire folded her arms. “Absolutely not.”
Evelyn watched her brother rub his hands together against the evening chill. Grant had refused coats since college, claiming they ruined the line of a suit.
“What does he want?” Claire asked.
“To separate me from witnesses.”
“Then no.”
Evelyn tapped the intercom. “Miriam will attend.”
Grant looked directly into the camera. “No lawyers.”
“Then no entry.”
He stepped away from the panel, paced once, and returned.
“Vivian acted without my approval.”
Claire whispered, “There it is.”
Evelyn pressed the button. “Which act?”
“The board notice.”
“Anything else?”
His face tightened. “Let me in.”
“Answer the question.”
Grant glanced back toward the dark drive, though no one stood behind him. “I did not authorize any statement about impairment before the accident.”
“The affidavit has your signature.”
“It’s a draft.”
“Your signature is still your signature.”
“You have signed drafts.”
“Not about your mental capacity.”
He leaned closer to the camera. “Vivian has records you need.”
“Then tell her to send them to Miriam.”
“She won’t.”
“Why not?”
“Because she thinks you are going to ruin her.”
“Is she wrong?”
Grant’s breath clouded in front of him.
Claire moved closer to the screen.
Her father could not see her from the camera angle.
Grant said, “I can get the records.”
“What do you want in exchange?”
“I want access restored to my office.”
“No.”
“Then you don’t want the truth. You want leverage.”
Evelyn pressed her thumb against the edge of the phone.
He knew how to find the old wound: her fear that control had become more important to her than the thing being controlled.
“I will allow supervised access,” she said. “Miriam present. No devices removed.”
Claire stared at her.
Grant considered it. “Tomorrow morning.”
“Ten.”
“Nine.”
“Ten.”
He gave a bitter smile. “Still chairing the meeting.”
The intercom went silent.
Evelyn denied entry.
Claire waited until Grant’s figure disappeared down the drive.
“You’re letting him back in.”
“Supervised.”
“He hit you.”
“Yes.”
“He lied about the accident.”
“Probably.”
“Probably?”
“I will not improve the truth to make it easier.”
Claire walked to the library window and closed the curtain, though the glass already reflected only the room.
“You know what he does,” she said. “He gives you one piece, then makes you pay for the rest.”
“I know.”
“And you still think you can manage him.”
“No.” Evelyn set her soup aside. “I think he knows something Vivian is afraid he will say.”
Claire turned. “What if he’s using that?”
“He is.”
“Then why agree?”
“Because people can manipulate you and still be telling the truth.”
Claire looked exhausted. “That sounds like this family’s motto.”
The next morning, Grant arrived at ten twelve, making lateness look intentional.
Miriam met him at the east entrance. Claire remained in the library despite Grant’s objection. Evelyn wore the same charcoal dress because transferring into anything with a zipper took too much energy, though she had changed the navy cardigan for a clean one nearly identical to it.
Grant noticed.
“You look like yesterday never ended,” he said.
“It hasn’t.”
He placed his phone in a lockbox at Miriam’s request. He surrendered one key and complained that the procedure was insulting. Miriam reminded him he had demanded entry.
They went to his office on the second floor using the elevator installed during their mother’s final illness. Evelyn had avoided it for years because the mirrors made the compartment feel smaller. Now the wheelchair barely fit alongside Claire and Miriam. Grant took the stairs.
May you like
His office looked untouched.
A framed photograph showed Grant and their father on a sailboat in 1998, both sunburned and laughing at something outside the frame. Another showed Claire at her college graduation. The shelves held business books Grant had bought in groups and read selectively.
