Chương 8
Richard walked to the window.
For nearly a minute, he said nothing.
Margaret could see him calculating.
Not only legal exposure.
Share price.
Loans.
Employees.
His name.
His father’s name.
The Whitmore name that had been carved into hospitals, libraries, business schools, and one embarrassingly large performing arts center in Texas.
Richard had spent fifty years building an institution large enough to feel indistinguishable from himself.
Margaret knew the trap because she had helped decorate it.
Finally he said, “You think this is moral courage because you have never had to sign the checks that keep forty thousand people employed.”
Margaret almost answered quickly.
Then she stopped.
He was not entirely wrong.
That annoyed her.
The company was not only Richard.
It was drivers, engineers, payroll clerks, janitors, apprentices, retirees.
People whose mortgages did not deserve to become collateral damage for a family reckoning.
“You’re right,” she said.
Richard turned, surprised.
“I don’t know what the consequences will be.”
He waited.
“That is why an independent committee should see the records instead of you.”
His surprise disappeared.
Helen looked down to hide a smile.
Richard shook his head.
“You always did that.”
“Did what?”
“Let a person think you agreed with him before using the agreement against him.”
“Daniel learned it somewhere.”
That hurt.
Margaret saw it.
Richard removed his phone.
He did not call Judith Kane.
Instead he dialed someone named Peter Sloan, Whitmore Consolidated’s general counsel.
Margaret stopped him.
“Judith.”
“I will speak to counsel first.”
“No.”
“This is not a negotiation.”
“Then I’ll call Judith myself.”
“You don’t have her number.”
Helen raised a finger.
“I do.”
Richard looked at her.
Helen’s professional expression did not change.
“I coordinate the family’s board dinners.”
For some reason, Noah laughed.
It was only one breath.
Still, the entire car changed.
Richard stared at the ceiling.
Then he dialed Judith Kane.
She answered sounding half asleep.
Richard said, “Judith, I need you to initiate a preservation protocol regarding Redstone and any internal review involving Martin Mercer.”
Margaret watched his face.
Judith apparently asked a question.
Richard closed his eyes.
“Yes,” he said. “That Redstone.”
Another question.
“No. I am not going to explain everything by phone.”
Margaret held out her hand.
Richard ignored it.
“Yes, there may be exposure involving prior executive decisions.”
Margaret kept her hand out.
Richard finally gave her the phone.
“This is Margaret,” she said.
Judith became fully awake.
“Margaret, what the hell is happening?”
“My son is alive.”
Silence.
Margaret looked at the snow.
“Daniel is alive. Richard has known for eleven years. Daniel may possess records related to Redstone. Martin Mercer is on this train and appears to be trying to recover them.”
Another silence.
Then Judith said, very quietly, “I’m calling outside counsel.”
“Good.”
“Are you safe?”
Margaret considered the question.
“Yes.”
It was not exactly true.
But Noah was watching.
Judith said, “Do not access company systems. Do not destroy anything. Do not hand anything to Mercer. I’m issuing preservation notices tonight.”
Richard winced at the word tonight.
Margaret almost enjoyed it.
Almost.
“Thank you.”
“Margaret.”
“Yes?”
“Did you say Daniel is alive?”
Margaret closed her eyes.
“Yes.”
Judith whispered something Margaret could not make out.
They had known each other thirty years.
Judith had attended Daniel’s memorial.
“Call me when you can,” she said.
Margaret ended the call.
Richard held out his hand for the phone.
She placed it on the table instead.
“You have just put the entire company into crisis.”
“No. Whoever altered those records did that eleven years ago.”
“That is a childish distinction.”
“Perhaps. I’m spending the evening with children.”
Richard gave her a look that would have frightened a cabinet minister.
Margaret turned to Noah.
“More soup?”
“Not really.”
“Excellent. We finally agree on something.”
The door rattled again.
This time Mercer did not ask permission.
A metallic click came from the latch.
Helen backed away.
The secondary bolt held.
Mercer called through the glass.
“Richard, open the door.”
Richard approached.
Margaret stepped in front of him.
“No.”
“He is my employee.”
“Not for long.”
Richard’s mouth tightened.
Mercer struck the door once with the heel of his hand.
Not violently.
Impatiently.
“Richard.”
The tone was wrong.
Not subordinate.
Richard heard it too.
Margaret looked at him.
“What does he have on you?”
Richard’s face went flat.
“Nothing.”
Mercer laughed from the other side.
The sound carried through the glass.
“Tell her about Cedar Ridge.”
Richard froze.
Margaret stepped toward the door.
“What about it?”
Mercer’s face appeared.
“Ask your husband who paid the doctor.”
Richard said, “Martin, shut your mouth.”
Margaret turned.
“Who paid the doctor?”
Richard’s voice became dangerous.
“Margaret.”
“Who?”
Mercer answered through the door.
“The foundation.”
Margaret’s stomach dropped.
Richard closed his eyes.
For a moment she could not speak.
“The Whitmore Foundation paid for Daniel’s treatment?”
Richard said, “It was reimbursed.”
“That is not what I asked.”
“Yes.”
“How?”
“A discretionary medical grant.”
“For a man under a false name.”
“It was forty-eight thousand dollars. I replaced it within the month.”
Margaret stared at him.
She had signed those grants.
Not each one individually, but the quarterly authorization.
That meant somewhere, buried in a ledger she had approved, was the cost of keeping her own son hidden from her.
The cruelty of it was so precise that she could not immediately absorb it.
Mercer said through the door, “Richard used the foundation because he didn’t want a corporate payment tied to Daniel.”
Richard turned on him.
“You suggested it.”
“I executed your decision.”
“You forged supporting documentation.”
“At your request.”
“I never asked you to forge anything.”
Mercer smiled faintly.
“See how quickly memory improves when counsel gets involved?”
Margaret felt the balance of power shift.
Mercer was not protecting Richard.
He was protecting himself.
And he had been doing it long enough to know where every body was buried, metaphorical or otherwise.
Perhaps Richard had mistaken dependence for loyalty.
A common error among powerful men.
May you like
Margaret looked at Helen.
“Can the conductor isolate that vestibule?”
