Chương 8
Nora stopped.
The estate attorney, Martin Feld, removed his glasses.
“I think we should discuss whether June should remain for this.”
June crossed her arms.
Martin looked at Nora.
Nora said, “Ask her.”
He did.
June stayed.
The documents did not reveal a simple villain.
That would have been easier.
They showed Celeste had directed millions of dollars in foundation contracts toward companies controlled by two longtime associates. Some invoices appeared inflated. Others described services with little documentation.
They also showed Grant had been warned.
Not once.
Repeatedly.
Internal emails from finance staff had raised concerns. Grant had forwarded several to Celeste asking her to “clean this up before audit committee.”
Another email said: “We cannot afford noise this quarter.”
June did not understand all of it.
She understood enough.
“You knew.”
Grant was not in Boston.
June said it to his name on the paper anyway.
Nora kept reading.
Eleanor’s notebook was worse.
Not because it contained dramatic confessions.
Because it contained ordinary sentences.
C. says I’m paranoid.
G. says wait until after vote.
Vendor address matches condo.
Need backup outside family.
June dentist Thursday 3:30.
Call Nora.
The grocery list on the next page included blueberries, detergent, coffee, and dog food even though they did not own a dog.
June touched that line.
“Why dog food?”
Nora laughed softly.
“She used to feed the stray behind your old house.”
“What stray?”
“Big yellow dog. Terrible manners.”
“I never saw it.”
“Your mom told you it belonged to a neighbor because you wanted to bring it inside.”
June looked at the page.
For some reason, that hurt more than the financial records.
Her mother had bought dog food.
That was the kind of thing dead people were not supposed to surprise you with.
The hard drive contained copies of company documents and several audio files.
Martin would not allow anyone to open them until a forensic copy had been made.
June became furious.
“They’re Mom’s.”
“They may also be evidence.”
“Evidence of what?”
“That’s what we don’t know yet.”
“You people say that constantly.”
Martin nodded.
“It’s an annoying part of my profession.”
One sealed envelope was addressed to Nora.
One to Grant.
One to June.
Martin gave June hers.
She held it for a long time.
“Do I have to open it here?”
“No.”
“Can anybody make me?”
“No.”
She put it in her backpack.
She did not open it in Boston.
She did not open it on the plane.
She did not open it that night.
For four days, it stayed between a math workbook and a package of fruit snacks.
Meanwhile, things happened to the adults.
The Mercer Foundation board placed Celeste on leave.
Grant stepped down temporarily as executive chairman of Mercer Alpine Holdings after documents from Vault 312 were turned over to independent counsel.
The cemetery confirmed that an outside contractor had opened Eleanor’s burial vault under authorization signed electronically through a family-office account.
Celeste denied personally ordering it.
Her lawyer said the work involved “recovery of private family property from a memorial site known by relevant family members to contain no human remains.”
That sentence made June throw a pillow at the television.
Nora’s assault on Celeste did not disappear merely because people online liked her.
A prosecutor’s office reviewed the train incident. Nora was interviewed again. So was Celeste.
Nora hired her own attorney.
She stopped calling what she had done protective.
“I hit her because I was furious,” she told June one night while washing dishes. “That’s the truth.”
“Do you regret it?”
Nora rinsed a plate.
“Yes.”
“Even though she hit me?”
“Yes.”
June did not like the answer.
Nora placed the plate in the rack.
“Being angry at somebody doesn’t make everything you do to them right.”
“She deserved it.”
“Maybe.”
“So?”
“So I don’t want you learning that deserving something is the same as us getting to do it.”
June leaned against the counter.
“You sound like the school counselor.”
“That is deeply insulting.”
June smiled.
Nora flicked water at her.
It was the first normal evening they had experienced since the train.
Then the doorbell rang.
Grant stood outside.
He had not called.
Nora almost shut the door.
June said, “Let him in.”
Grant entered carrying no briefcase, no assistant, no coat despite the cold.
He looked tired.
June had seen photographs of him leaving board meetings that week. He always looked composed in those.
In Nora’s hallway he looked like somebody who had forgotten where to put his hands.
“I got Eleanor’s letter,” he said.
Nora did not answer.
June asked, “Did you read it?”
“Yes.”
“What did it say?”
“It said a lot.”
“Bad adult answer.”
Grant nodded.
“She said she had spent years waiting for me to become brave enough to disagree with my family when it cost me something.”
June looked at Nora.
Nora looked away.
“She said I loved you,” Grant continued, “but I kept treating being your father like something I could schedule around everything else.”
June’s face became hot.
“Did she say that?”
“Yes.”
“Exactly?”
“No. I’m summarizing.”
“Don’t.”
Grant swallowed.
“She wrote, ‘Grant loves June. I believe that. I do not believe love will automatically make him show up.’”
Nobody spoke.
June looked at the floor.
The entry rug had one corner folded over.
Grant bent to straighten it.
June snapped, “Stop.”
He froze.
“Stop fixing stuff.”
His hand remained on the rug.
“You always fix stupid things.”
He slowly stood.
“You straighten chairs and pictures and rugs, and everything important is awful.”
Grant looked at the rug.
“I don’t know what to do with that.”
“Good.”
He nodded.
“Okay.”
June expected him to explain himself.
He did not.
That helped more than explaining would have.
She sat on the stairs.
“Why did you lie about Mom being in the coffin?”
Grant sat on the floor instead of taking a chair.
“Because I was afraid.”
“Of what?”
“You.”
May you like
June frowned.
“I thought if you knew her body was never found, you would spend years believing she might walk through the door.”
