Chương 12
Those things could all be true.
But he had also blocked a worse sale.
He had apparently cared about workers Richard viewed as numbers.
He had tried to return something to Claire.
Too late.
Badly.
Maybe selfishly.
Human beings were inconsiderate that way.
They refused to become morally convenient when dead.
At seven, the train stopped outside Denver because avalanche control had closed the line ahead.
They would remain there several hours.
Passengers could see the city glow faintly in the distance.
Claire went to the dining car because she had not eaten enough.
Luis brought tomato soup.
She stared at it.
“What?”
He hesitated.
“Nothing.”
“You made a face.”
“I did not.”
“You absolutely did.”
Luis smiled.
“My grandmother says tomato soup on a train means the kitchen has surrendered.”
Claire looked at the bowl.
“That seems fair.”
“Would you like something else?”
“No. I respect surrender.”
He laughed softly.
Then his expression became careful.
“I saw the article.”
Claire looked up.
He immediately looked embarrassed.
“Sorry.”
“It’s okay.”
“My mother is nosy. She sent it to me.”
“Apparently everybody’s family communication system is functioning perfectly.”
Luis smiled.
Then he said, “For what it’s worth, your mom looked cool.”
Claire blinked.
“The photo?”
“Yes.”
“She hated that coat.”
“Still looked cool.”
Claire felt tears threaten.
Not a dramatic flood.
Just pressure behind her eyes.
She looked at the soup.
“Thank you.”
Luis left.
Claire ate every spoonful.
At eight thirty, Ethan found her.
“Eleanor wants to talk.”
“No.”
“She says it concerns the reporter’s source.”
Claire put down her spoon.
Eleanor waited in her compartment.
It was larger than Claire’s, lined with walnut and green velvet.
No makeup.
No pearls.
A robe over a silk nightgown.
Claire had never seen her look informal.
It felt like trespassing.
Eleanor held a folded piece of paper.
“I called Dorothy.”
“And?”
“She didn’t speak to the reporter.”
“You already said she wouldn’t.”
“She did something else.”
Eleanor handed Claire the paper.
It was a handwritten list of names.
Security staff.
A former Bennett general counsel.
Two private investigators.
One name was circled.
Gavin Royce.
Claire looked up.
“Who?”
“Jonathan’s investigator.”
“The one who got my DNA?”
“I believe so.”
“Alive?”
“Yes.”
“Where?”
“Denver.”
Claire stared at her.
“You’re kidding.”
“No.”
That sounded convenient enough to be fiction.
Eleanor seemed to read her face.
“He retired here twelve years ago. I knew because Jonathan continued paying him a consulting retainer.”
Claire sat.
“Did you call him?”
“Yes.”
“And?”
“He wants money.”
“Of course he does.”
“He also says Harrow contacted him last month.”
Claire looked up.
“What did he give them?”
“He wouldn’t say.”
“Why tell you?”
“Because he thinks I’ll pay more.”
Claire laughed once.
“This family has excellent traditions.”
Eleanor ignored it.
“He wants two hundred thousand dollars for all surviving files.”
“No.”
“I didn’t agree.”
“Good.”
“I considered it.”
Claire stared at her.
Eleanor’s mouth tightened.
“I am trying to be honest.”
“Try harder. Why does he still have files?”
“I don’t know.”
“Why didn’t Jonathan destroy them?”
“I don’t know.”
Claire stood.
“Call Ethan.”
Gavin Royce refused to meet at the train.
He would meet in a hotel near Union Station.
Ethan said no payment.
Richard said they should involve police.
Ethan said there was not yet evidence of a crime that required police involvement.
Eleanor wanted a private security team.
Claire said that sounded exactly like the kind of decision that had created the current problem.
In the end, Ethan contacted outside litigation counsel in Denver and arranged for an investigator from that firm to attend.
Richard insisted on coming.
Claire said no.
He came anyway.
The four of them left the train shortly before ten, with snow falling lightly.
Claire had not stood outdoors since Seattle.
Cold air struck her face.
For a moment none of the money or documents mattered.
She breathed.
Then Richard said, “Car’s here.”
She hated him a little for ending it.
Gavin Royce was seventy-one, broad-shouldered, with a hearing aid and the irritated expression of someone who believed age entitled him to impatience.
He looked at Claire for too long.
“You have his eyes.”
Claire sat down.
“If you say that again, I’m leaving.”
Royce blinked.
“Fair enough.”
Ethan introduced himself.
Royce looked at Eleanor.
“You always did bring lawyers.”
“You always created the need.”
Richard glanced between them.
“You know him?”
Eleanor’s expression was cold.
“For decades.”
Royce placed a small hard drive on the hotel table.
“Everything I retained.”
Ethan did not touch it.
“Why did you retain anything?”
“Insurance.”
“Against what?”
Royce laughed.
“People like the Bennetts.”
Richard looked offended.
Claire said, “That part seems reasonable.”
Royce smiled at her.
She did not smile back.
He explained.
Jonathan had hired him in 2004 to confirm Claire’s paternity and monitor Marianne’s circumstances.
Royce obtained discarded drinking cups from a cafe Marianne and Claire visited.
Claire’s stomach turned.
“You followed a twelve-year-old?”
“Yes.”
Richard muttered, “Jesus.”
Royce looked at him.
“Your father paid.”
Claire stared at Royce.
“Did my mother ever know?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Did you photograph us?”
“Yes.”
“How many times?”
“I’d have to check.”
Claire stood.
Ethan said quietly, “Claire.”
She walked to the window.
Snow fell through the hotel lights.
A taxi stopped outside.
A man wrestled with two suitcases while his daughter complained about the cold.
Ordinary people.
Ordinary problems.
Claire wanted one.
Behind her, Ethan asked Royce who contacted him from Harrow.
Royce gave a name.
Dylan Mercer, a diligence contractor.
Mercer paid Royce twenty-five thousand dollars for historical information about Jonathan Bennett’s undisclosed liabilities.
Royce provided summaries.
“What kind of summaries?” Ethan asked.
“Affairs. Settlements. Potential heirs.”
Richard turned.
“Potential heirs?”
Royce looked at Claire.
She felt the room tilt.
“Plural?” she said.
Royce said nothing.
Eleanor whispered, “Gavin.”
Richard moved closer to the table.
“What does plural mean?”
Royce rubbed his jaw.
“Jonathan had other affairs.”
Claire almost laughed.
Of course.
May you like
Of course there would be more.
But Royce shook his head.
