Chương 8
Madison wore a baseball cap.
Evelyn nearly commented on it, then decided not to.
“I signed an affidavit,” Madison said.
Evelyn’s stomach tightened.
“For Ryan?”
“For myself.”
She slid a copy across the table.
Evelyn did not touch it.
“What does it say?”
“That he told me the marriage was functionally over. That he planned the gala announcement. That I did not know he intended to use the ring or pour the drink.”
“Why?”
“Because I’m tired of strangers deciding which parts I knew.”
Evelyn looked at her.
“Anything about the acquisition?”
“I didn’t know about it.”
“Then there shouldn’t be.”
“There isn’t.”
Madison stirred her coffee though she had not added sugar.
“He asked me to say you knew about us.”
“And?”
“I told him I couldn’t.”
“Because I didn’t?”
“Because I don’t know.”
Evelyn nodded.
Madison looked at the table.
“He ended things.”
That surprised her.
“When?”
“Last week.”
“I’m sorry.”
Madison laughed.
“You don’t have to do that.”
“I know.”
“He said I abandoned him.”
“Did you?”
“I told him I wouldn’t lie under oath.”
Evelyn looked out the window.
Pedestrians passed carrying groceries and backpacks.
A delivery rider nearly collided with a taxi and expressed his opinion with impressive creativity.
Madison said, “Was he always like this?”
Evelyn turned back.
“No.”
The answer came quickly.
That mattered.
“What happened?”
“I don’t know.”
Madison seemed disappointed.
“You were married to him.”
“That doesn’t mean I have a diagnosis.”
“He talks like everything that goes wrong is something somebody did to him.”
“Yes.”
“Was he like that at twenty-five?”
Evelyn thought of the apartment in Boston.
Ryan burning pasta and insisting smoke detectors were overly sensitive.
Ryan sitting beside her in a hospital waiting room when her mother had surgery, saying almost nothing for six hours because he knew she could not tolerate reassurance.
Ryan crying when their old dog, Milo, died.
Ryan once driving three hours back to a gas station because a cashier had accidentally given him a hundred dollars too much.
“No,” she said.
Madison waited.
Evelyn added, “But maybe pieces were there.”
“That’s depressing.”
“Yes.”
Madison folded the affidavit.
“You hate me.”
Evelyn considered lying.
“I don’t know you well enough.”
“You hated me that night.”
“Yes.”
“You wanted me humiliated.”
Evelyn looked at her.
“Yes.”
Madison nodded slowly.
“Thank you for saying it.”
Evelyn did not feel good about the honesty.
That was probably why it was honest.
The discovery process in Ryan’s lawsuit became invasive quickly.
Lawyers requested messages between Evelyn and William.
Investment records.
Calendars.
Private notes.
Tax documents.
Draft acquisition models.
Texts between Evelyn and former Wexler North partners.
Then they requested communications between Evelyn and Ryan during their marriage.
Her counsel objected.
The judge narrowed the scope.
Some still had to be produced.
Evelyn sat with lawyers reviewing eleven years of ordinary messages.
Buy milk.
Landing at 7.
Your dad called.
Do you remember the plumber’s name?
I’m sorry.
I’m still mad.
Dinner?
Don’t wait up.
Happy anniversary.
Where are you?
There were messages from good years.
Bad years.
Years she had forgotten how to classify.
One text stopped her.
Ryan, four years earlier:
You make me want to be better and I hate you a little for it.
Her reply:
That is either romantic or a warning.
Ryan:
Both.
Evelyn stared at the screen until Elaine noticed.
“You need a break.”
“I’m fine.”
“You’ve been reading marital discovery for five hours.”
“I’ve had worse hobbies.”
Elaine closed the laptop.
“Break.”
They walked downstairs.
Outside, autumn had turned colder.
Evelyn bought coffee from a cart.
Elaine ordered tea and complained about the lid.
For ten minutes, they discussed nothing related to litigation.
Elaine’s daughter was applying to colleges.
Evelyn had once attended the same school tour twice because she forgot she had already gone with a cousin.
A pigeon stole part of someone’s muffin.
Then Elaine said, “There’s something you need to understand.”
Evelyn groaned.
“I liked the pigeon conversation.”
“Ryan’s lawyers found a message from William.”
“Which one?”
“Eight months ago. He wrote, ‘If he keeps this up, he’ll lose the company.’”
“I remember.”
“You replied, ‘Maybe he should.’”
Evelyn stopped walking.
“That’s not great.”
“No.”
“Context?”
“He had just overridden Victor on Phoenix.”
“Still not great.”
“No.”
They stood beside the curb.
Elaine said, “It doesn’t invalidate the transaction.”
“But it helps their story.”
“Yes.”
Evelyn took a drink of coffee.
“Then they get it.”
“We could fight admissibility.”
“Do that if appropriate. But we don’t pretend I never wanted him removed.”
Elaine studied her.
“You did?”
“Yes.”
“When?”
“Before I admitted it.”
That night Evelyn met William for dinner.
Not at a private club.
At a small Italian restaurant in the East Seventies where he had eaten every Wednesday for fifteen years.
The owner hugged him.
William hated being hugged and accepted it anyway.
They sat in a corner booth.
He ordered veal.
His cardiologist would have objected.
Evelyn ordered fish.
William said, “You’re becoming sanctimonious.”
“I ordered one fish.”
“You looked at my veal.”
“I looked at your veal.”
“Judgmentally.”
“I’m in litigation. All my looks are judgmental.”
William smiled.
Then the smile disappeared.
“Ryan came to see me.”
“When?”
“Yesterday.”
“How was it?”
“Bad.”
Evelyn waited.
William cut his food into pieces smaller than necessary.
“He asked if I ever intended to give him control.”
“What did you say?”
“I said I had.”
“And?”
“He didn’t believe me.”
“Did you?”
William put down his fork.
“That is an unpleasant question.”
“Yes.”
He looked around the restaurant.
At seventy, William would probably still have hated admitting uncertainty.
At sixty-eight, he managed.
“I intended to give him control when he became someone I trusted with it.”
“That’s conditional.”
“Everything is conditional.”
“Not to a son.”
William’s jaw tightened.
“You think I did this.”
“I think you made him spend thirty years auditioning.”
“He was given every opportunity.”
“That’s not what I said.”
“He had schools. Jobs. Mentors. Capital. Access—”
May you like
“An audition can be extremely comfortable.”
William leaned back.
