Chương 9
When Marcus came to retrieve it, he tried it on.
The cuffs ended above his wrists.
“I’ll replace it,” Clara said.
“It’s fine.”
“You look like you borrowed it from a younger brother.”
“I don’t have a brother.”
“That doesn’t improve it.”
He examined one sleeve.
“I hated this coat.”
“You wore it.”
“My wife bought it.”
Clara stopped smiling.
“Past tense?”
“She died.”
“I’m sorry.”
“It was six years ago.”
“That does not make my response less awkward.”
“No.”
They stood beside a vending machine filled with detergent and candy bars. Marcus removed the coat and folded it over one arm.
“Helena said you might need transportation,” he said.
“I don’t.”
“She assumed you would say that.”
“Does she have you follow everyone who disagrees with her?”
“Only the ones receiving threats.”
Clara had received two messages that morning containing her home address. Neither included an explicit threat. Naomi called them “concerning communications,” which felt inadequate but accurate.
“Where is she?” Clara asked.
“At work.”
“Investigating the investigation she recused herself from?”
“Trying not to.”
Marcus bought a packet of peanut-butter crackers from the machine.
Clara watched it drop.
“Lila eats those.”
“A lot of people do.”
“No, I mean she was eating them when she told me about the service charges.”
Marcus opened the packet and offered her one.
She took it.
They ate in silence while dryers turned behind them.
That evening, Beatrice Hale called.
Clara almost ignored the unfamiliar number. Then Beatrice left a voicemail asking for ten minutes in a public place.
Naomi advised against meeting without counsel. Helena advised against meeting at all. Clara chose a tea room inside an old department store where the tables were close together and the customers mostly elderly.
Beatrice arrived with a cane she had not used at the ballroom. Her silver hair was arranged in the same soft waves, but she wore a charcoal coat and no diamonds. A young assistant accompanied her to the table, then sat several yards away.
Clara ordered tea she did not want.
Beatrice removed her gloves one finger at a time.
“You look different,” she said.
“So do you.”
“I am seventy-six years old. I look different every morning.”
Clara had not expected humor and did not reward it.
Beatrice placed her gloves beside the sugar bowl.
“I asked Victor to reinstate your contract.”
“He terminated it in writing.”
“He can reverse the decision.”
“I don’t want to play at your hotel.”
“That is unfortunate. You are gifted.”
“You watched him put me on the floor.”
Beatrice looked toward the assistant, who was pretending to read a menu.
“My grandson has apologized for losing his temper.”
“To you?”
“To me, yes.”
“Did he apologize for threatening Lila?”
“I am not familiar with the details of that employee’s dismissal.”
“Then become familiar.”
Beatrice’s mouth tightened.
“You speak to me as if I caused every decision made by four thousand employees.”
“You were in the room.”
The server arrived with tea. Beatrice waited until the cups were poured and the server left.
“I did not know Victor intended to humiliate you,” she said.
“What did you think he was doing?”
“I believed you had taken confidential documents and created a disturbance. Victor said you refused to calm yourself.”
Clara lifted the teapot. Her hand remained steady until the cup was almost full.
“And when I was kneeling?”
Beatrice stared at the steam.
“I thought you had chosen a dramatic gesture.”
“You thought I was performing.”
“You are a performer.”
The cruelty of the answer seemed to surprise Beatrice only after she heard it aloud.
Clara put down the teapot.
“This meeting is over.”
Beatrice reached into her handbag.
Clara froze, expecting money.
Instead, Beatrice placed a folded sheet of paper on the table.
It was a banquet invoice from the previous year. The service charge totaled thirty-eight thousand dollars. Beneath it, a line labeled staff distribution showed zero.
“I found this in my office,” Beatrice said.
“One invoice?”
“Seven.”
“Did you ask Victor?”
“He said the accounting treatment changed.”
“And you believed him?”
“I believed the chief financial officer, who confirmed it.”
“Did you ask the staff?”
Beatrice looked offended.
Then the offense faded.
“No.”
Clara unfolded the paper completely.
A signature authorized the distribution change.
Beatrice Hale.
“Is that yours?” Clara asked.
“It resembles mine.”
“That wasn’t the question.”
“No.”
The tea room continued around them. A woman at the neighboring table complained that her scone was too warm. The server apologized.
Beatrice touched one finger to the edge of the invoice.
“My husband taught Victor to sign my name when he was a child,” she said. “Birthday cards, flowers, thank-you notes. They thought it was amusing.”
“Why are you showing me this?”
“Because Helena Wynn has spent thirty years making a profession of assuming the worst about people.”
Clara looked up.
“And you want me to prove her wrong?”
“I want to know whether there is an explanation that does not destroy my family.”
“That is not the same as wanting the truth.”
Beatrice’s controlled smile had disappeared entirely.
“You sound like her.”
“No. She would already have copied the document.”
Beatrice looked at the folded invoice.
Clara took out her phone.
“May I?”
The old woman hesitated for so long that the screen dimmed in Clara’s hand.
Finally, Beatrice nodded.
Clara photographed both sides.
“Send it to the investigator,” she said.
“I will speak to Victor first.”
“No.”
“This is my company.”
“And those were other people’s wages.”
Beatrice’s eyes hardened.
“You are very certain for a woman who discovered the matter four days ago.”
“I’m certain nobody made me kneel because the explanation was innocent.”
The sentence left them both silent.
Beatrice folded the invoice and returned it to her bag.
“My grandson’s father died when Victor was eleven,” she said. “His mother moved to Europe less than a year later. He became my responsibility.”
May you like
Clara waited.
“I taught him that this family survives by appearing untroubled,” Beatrice continued. “There were lenders watching us then. Competitors. Newspapers. Every weakness became someone else’s opportunity.”
