Chương 10
Clara read the statement at the kitchen table.
“I told her no four times,” she said.
Julian sat across from her with a legal pad. “Marcus heard you.”
“So did Beatrice.”
“Ortiz has their statements.”
“Beatrice will say she trusted the doctor.”
“She did trust the doctor.”
Clara looked at him sharply.
“That doesn’t excuse it,” he said. “But it may be true.”
“You’re defending her.”
“No.”
“You always defend whoever sounds calm.”
Julian set down the pen. “And you assume any explanation is a defense.”
“Because explanations are how this family avoids apologies.”
They stared at each other.
Dana stood near the window, pretending to read a message.
Julian said, “Beatrice was wrong. Marcus was wrong. Wren was wrong. Elliot hurt you. None of that changes because their reasons were complicated.”
Clara crossed her arms, then winced when the movement pulled at her ribs.
He continued, “But if you want me to say Beatrice planned all of this because she doesn’t love you, I can’t.”
“I didn’t ask you to.”
“You wanted me to choose a cleaner version.”
“No, Julian. I wanted you to be angry for five minutes without turning it into a model.”
He stood too quickly, knocking his knee against the table.
Dana looked up.
Julian grabbed his coat. “I’m going to the office.”
Clara’s face closed. “Of course.”
He stopped near the door.
The old version of him would have left. Departure had always been his most polished response. He traveled for projects, slept in hotels, and returned after emotions had settled into forms he could discuss.
He removed his coat.
“What?” Clara asked.
“You’re right.”
She stared at him.
“I am angry,” he said. “I’m angry at Elliot. I’m angry at Beatrice. I’m angry at Marcus. I’m angry at Wren. I’m angry at you for going back to him. I’m angry at myself because I saw enough to ask questions and chose not to. I’m angry that the firm may lose people who had nothing to do with this. I’m angry that Dad recorded you when you were sick, and I was in the room, and I forgot.”
Clara’s expression changed at the last sentence.
Julian looked down. “I forgot the camera.”
“I didn’t.”
“No.”
“You stood by the window.”
“I know.”
“You kept looking at your watch.”
He pressed his lips together.
“I had a train,” he said, and hated the smallness of it.
Clara laughed once, a broken sound. “Of course you did.”
“I’m sorry.”
Her eyes filled. She looked away before the tears fell.
Julian remained near the door.
After a while, she said, “I don’t forgive you yet.”
“All right.”
“You don’t get points for accepting that gracefully.”
“I wasn’t aware there were points.”
“There are always points with you.”
He sat again.
Dana returned to her phone.
The trust investigation lasted seven weeks before the first findings were presented.
Elliot had routed nearly four million dollars through three consulting firms controlled by a college friend and the friend’s brother. Some funds had been returned to Elliot through property investments. Beatrice had approved two contracts without competitive review, despite written warnings from the trust’s finance director.
The finance director had resigned the previous year and signed a nondisclosure agreement.
Beatrice had not received money.
She had received warnings and ignored them.
Independent counsel concluded that her conduct might constitute a breach of fiduciary duty. The state charities bureau opened a formal inquiry. Several grant programs were temporarily paused. Twenty-one trust employees were furloughed.
The Ashford firm lost the Copenhagen museum contract.
Mae found a new credit facility, but the interest rate was higher and the bank required Julian to reduce distributions. He sold a vacation house in Montauk that he had visited twice in six years.
The sale bothered him less than the layoffs at the trust.
At Clara’s request, he drove her to meet three furloughed employees in a church basement in Queens. They wanted to know when their health insurance would end, whether the housing grants would resume, and why no one had listened to the finance director.
Julian answered what he could.
Clara did not speak until a program coordinator named Nia asked whether the family intended to keep the trust under Ashford control.
“No,” Clara said.
Julian turned toward her.
She looked at him but continued addressing the room. “Not if I can help it.”
On the drive back, traffic stopped near the Queensboro Bridge. A delivery cyclist argued with a cabdriver in the next lane. Clara watched them through the window.
“You could have told me,” Julian said.
“I just did.”
“In a basement full of people.”
“You listen better with witnesses.”
“That is unfair.”
“It is also true.”
He tapped the steering wheel. “What are you proposing?”
“Convert the trust to an independent foundation. No family chair. No hereditary board seats.”
“Our father’s will may not allow that.”
“Then challenge it.”
“That could take years.”
“So did his dying.”
Julian looked at the red brake lights ahead.
Clara continued. “The Ashford name is part of the problem. Everyone thought preserving it was the same as preserving the work.”
“The name attracts donors.”
“It also frightens employees into signing nondisclosure agreements.”
“What happens to the programs during litigation?”
“We create a transition fund.”
“With what money?”
“Sell the estate.”
Julian laughed because the suggestion seemed impossible.
Clara did not.
He stopped laughing.
“The estate is held separately,” he said.
“Mostly by you.”
“And Beatrice has lifetime occupancy.”
“She isn’t living there.”
“That may be temporary.”
“Ask her.”
Julian stared through the windshield.
The Ashford estate had belonged to the family for four generations. His architecture firm used photographs of its walnut library in recruitment materials. His father had conducted board meetings beneath a portrait of Julian’s great-grandfather. Clara had learned to swim in the greenhouse pool. Their mother’s ashes were buried beneath a beech tree near the south lawn.
May you like
“You want to sell the house because Elliot stole from the trust.”
“I want to sell the house because everyone keeps using it as an excuse.”
