Chương 10
“No.”
She pulled her knees closer.
“I loved her sometimes.”
Daniel looked at her.
“She could be funny. Not kind, exactly. But funny. She remembered my mother’s birthday after I mentioned it once. She sent flowers when Mom had surgery. She sat with me at Claire’s memorial dinner when everybody else assumed I shouldn’t be there.”
He remembered Margaret placing a hand over Natalie’s at that dinner.
“You never told me that.”
“It felt disloyal to Claire.”
“Claire wouldn’t have thought that.”
“You don’t know what Claire would have thought.”
The words came sharper than Natalie intended.
Daniel turned away.
She closed her eyes.
“I’m sorry.”
“No. You’re right.”
“I’m not trying to take her place.”
“I know.”
“Your mother thought I was.”
“I know.”
Natalie looked at him with exhausted irritation.
“Say something else.”
He searched for language that did not pretend certainty.
“I miss Claire,” he said. “I love you. I wanted the girls to have a life that didn’t feel organized around losing her. I let my mother convince me that moving forward was something I had to apologize for.”
Natalie’s face softened, then tightened again.
“And now?”
“Now I don’t know how to build anything without hearing her voice telling me who pays for it.”
Natalie leaned her head against his shoulder.
They sat on the bathroom floor until the heating system clicked on.
The independent investigation never happened.
Margaret’s board allies rejected it as unnecessary duplication of the criminal process. They appointed a special committee led by directors who promised neutrality and hired a law firm that had represented Bellamy Hospitality for fifteen years.
Marjorie resigned the next day.
Her email to staff was four sentences long. She thanked employees, cited personal reasons, and did not mention Margaret. Within an hour, reporters described her departure as evidence of corporate chaos.
Daniel called her.
“You didn’t have to resign.”
“Yes, I did.”
“Do you have another job?”
“No.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I’m not.”
She paused.
“Not yet, anyway.”
“What happened?”
“Carlisle asked me to produce a timeline showing that you ordered Vincent to preserve footage before Emily made the accusation.”
“That’s impossible.”
“He said the event staff had concerns earlier in the evening.”
“Did they?”
“No. He wanted the order to look like part of a preexisting plan.”
“To suggest I staged it.”
“Yes.”
“What did you say?”
“That timestamps are stubborn.”
Daniel walked to the kitchen window. The news van at the end of the street had been replaced by a photographer in a parked sedan.
“Will you tell prosecutors?”
“I already did.”
“Margaret will come after you.”
“She paid me well for eleven years. I bought a small apartment and never had children. Her imagination of what can be taken from me is larger than the reality.”
“You could lose your reputation.”
Marjorie was silent.
“That,” she said, “would hurt.”
A week later, Margaret requested a meeting through attorneys.
The criminal no-contact order prevented her from communicating with Natalie or the girls, but she could meet Daniel because he was not legally designated a protected person. His attorney advised against it. The prosecutor did not forbid it but warned him not to discuss testimony or convey messages.
Margaret proposed the private library at the flagship hotel.
Daniel refused the location.
They met instead in a conference room at his attorney’s office. Margaret arrived with two lawyers. Daniel brought one. A court-approved monitor sat near the door to document that no prohibited communication occurred.
Margaret wore gray.
Without the diamonds and satin, she looked smaller. The electronic monitor was hidden beneath the wide leg of her trousers, but Daniel heard the faint scrape when she crossed one ankle over the other.
She studied him across the table.
“You look tired.”
His attorney shifted slightly.
Daniel said, “Why did you ask for the meeting?”
Margaret glanced at the monitor.
“Because strangers have inserted themselves into a family crisis.”
“The strangers are here because you put medication in Natalie’s tea.”
One of her attorneys raised a hand.
“My client is not here to discuss disputed allegations.”
“Then we have nothing to discuss.”
Daniel began to stand.
Margaret spoke.
“The board plans to sell the Charleston property.”
He stopped.
The Charleston hotel employed two hundred people and had been in the family portfolio since he was nine. It was profitable but carried redevelopment value far above its operating return.
“Why?”
“Liquidity.”
“The company has adequate reserves.”
“Had. Cancellations are accelerating.”
“Selling Charleston in a panic will destroy long-term value.”
“I agree.”
Daniel sat again.
Margaret folded her hands on the table.
“I can prevent it.”
“What do you want?”
Her attorney murmured, “Margaret.”
She ignored him.
“I want you to stop feeding the spectacle.”
“I’ve made one public statement.”
“You encouraged employees to bypass company counsel.”
“I encouraged witnesses to tell the truth.”
“You humiliated the board.”
“The board managed that without help.”
Her mouth tightened. For a moment, she looked almost like herself.
“I can transfer a portion of my voting shares to you immediately,” she said. “Enough to restore your authority and block the sale.”
Daniel’s attorney leaned toward him.
“Do not respond yet.”
Daniel kept his eyes on Margaret.
“In exchange for what?”
“A statement that you overreacted in the ballroom.”
“No.”
“A statement that family tensions may have influenced the children’s interpretation.”
“No.”
“You have not heard the language.”
“I heard enough.”
Margaret’s gaze sharpened.
“You are sacrificing thousands of employees for pride.”
“Two hundred work in Charleston.”
“Thousands depend on the stability of the group.”
“And you’re using them to buy a lie.”
“I am offering you the power to protect them.”
“By saying my daughters misunderstood what they saw.”
“You questioned them yourself.”
Daniel felt his attorney’s hand touch the table near his arm, a warning not to react.
Margaret continued.
“The first words out of your mouth were not belief. They were doubt. That matters because you know them better than anyone.”
May you like
“I was wrong.”
“Or you were honest before Natalie told you what honesty should look like.”
