Chương 9
“How many people?”
“What?”
“Payroll.”
“Almost nine hundred, across the yards and shipping operations.”
Evelyn had expected a smaller number.
Celeste saw the effect.
“This isn’t only about yachts,” she said. “If the company defaults, people lose jobs. Vendors don’t get paid. Two towns lose their largest employers.”
“So the foundation should hide the loan?”
“It wasn’t hidden.”
“It was absent from the summaries.”
“The executive committee approved it.”
“With Arthur’s forged signature?”
Celeste’s face changed.
“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Nora photographed the authorization.”
Celeste pushed away from the wall.
“That girl has been going through confidential files.”
“She was asked to print them.”
“She wants attention.”
“She spent the entire evening trying not to be noticed.”
Celeste crossed her arms. “Arthur agreed verbally.”
“Did he?”
“Dad said he did.”
“That isn’t the same as a signature.”
“You’re making this sound criminal.”
“I’m asking questions.”
“On the morning after a video made us look like monsters.”
“You pulled the shawl.”
Celeste’s eyes filled with anger.
“Yes,” she said. “I did. I wanted you to leave. I wanted one thing to happen that you couldn’t stand there and absorb with that calm face.”
Evelyn said nothing.
Celeste’s breath quickened.
“You come into a room and make everyone else look vulgar just by being quiet. James did it too. He’d wait until Dad finished talking and then ask one soft question. One. Suddenly the rest of us were greedy or stupid or cruel.”
“That sounds like something between you and James.”
“He’s dead.”
“So it remains between you and James.”
Celeste flinched.
Evelyn regretted the precision of the sentence.
She opened the door wider.
Celeste looked surprised, then entered.
The room still held the scent of tea. Evelyn’s gown lay across a chair. The navy commendation folder rested on the desk beside the cracked compass.
Celeste stopped when she saw it.
“James showed me the request,” she said.
Evelyn closed the door.
“When?”
“Last January.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“He asked me not to.”
“Everyone honored that request.”
Celeste ignored the remark.
“He said you would need something no one in the family could take away.”
Evelyn looked toward the windows.
“He always thought symbols could fix structural problems,” Celeste continued. “A medal. A letter. A perfect sentence at the right time.”
“You sound angry at him.”
“I am angry at him.”
The admission came with relief.
Celeste sat on the edge of the armchair.
“He left me with Dad,” she said.
Evelyn almost answered that James had not chosen to die, but the sentence was too obvious and not entirely relevant.
Celeste rubbed beneath one eye.
“He knew the company was in trouble. He knew Dad had used the reserve. He said he was going to force a repayment plan after the refinancing. Then he got sick faster.”
“How much trouble?”
Celeste looked at her.
“Enough.”
“That isn’t an amount.”
“Twenty-six million due by December. Two shipyard contracts delayed. Insurance costs up. A lender reduced our facility after the Bar Harbor collision claim.”
Evelyn knew about the collision. A Whitmore-operated freight vessel had struck a pier during a mechanical failure. No one had been killed, but repairs and environmental cleanup had been expensive.
“Why didn’t Richard sell assets?”
“He tried.”
“Not the private marina land.”
“That land is the security for the new development loan.”
“Then don’t build it.”
“If we abandon the project, the lender can revalue the collateral.”
“So the charity project props up the company project.”
Celeste’s eyes hardened. “The charity project creates public infrastructure.”
“On family property.”
“Property can be both useful and privately owned.”
“Not with undisclosed charitable money.”
Celeste stood.
“You think there’s a clean decision. There isn’t. If you expose everything today, Dad may lose control of the company. The bank may call the debt. People who had nothing to do with any of this will pay.”
“And if we hide it?”
“We repay the reserve after the marina financing closes.”
“With donations raised from people who believe the reserve still exists?”
Celeste looked toward the gown.
Her voice lowered. “James agreed at first.”
“I know.”
“He signed.”
“I know.”
“So don’t make him innocent because he died.”
Evelyn’s throat tightened.
“I haven’t.”
“Yes, you have. You carry him around like he was the only decent Whitmore.”
“He wasn’t.”
Celeste seemed startled.
Evelyn sat on the bed.
“He signed because he was afraid of Richard,” she said. “Then he lied to me for two months. When he finally told me, he wanted credit for confessing before he had fixed anything. I was furious.”
Celeste watched her.
“He was sick,” Evelyn continued. “I forgave things because he was sick. That didn’t make them right.”
Celeste’s shoulders lowered.
For the first time since entering the room, she looked like someone who had come to speak rather than win.
“Did he tell you about the blue file?” she asked.
Evelyn looked at her.
“Which blue file?”
Celeste gave a small, humorless laugh. “Then no.”
“What is it?”
“I don’t know exactly. He kept it in your kitchen. He told me that if Dad pushed the vote after he died, I should make sure you found it.”
Evelyn stared.
“Why didn’t you?”
Celeste’s face closed again.
“Because he also told me it could destroy the company.”
There it was.
The apology, the fear, the cruelty, all sharing one body.
“You wanted me gone before I could look for it,” Evelyn said.
“I wanted time.”
“You took my clothes off in public for time.”
“I pulled a shawl.”
“You exposed something you knew I kept private.”
Celeste looked sick.
“I didn’t think Vale would walk in.”
“That would not have made it less cruel.”
“No.”
The word was almost inaudible.
Evelyn waited for more.
Celeste gave none.
“Get out,” Evelyn said.
Celeste nodded.
May you like
At the door, she paused.
“Dad will offer to repay the reserve over five years,” she said. “He’ll say the signature issue was administrative. Malcolm will support him. Two trustees owe the company money. If you accuse him without the blue file, you’ll lose.”
