Chapter 11 - The Man Who Thought Twenty Million Was Enough
Grant chose the restaurant.
I changed it.
That was the first argument, though he probably didn’t realize we were having one.
His assistant proposed a private dining room at a downtown hotel owned by a Wexler investment group.
Naomi replied that any meeting would occur in her conference room, with counsel present.
Grant objected.
I didn’t respond.
Twenty-four hours later, he arrived at Naomi’s office.
He wore a charcoal suit and no tie.
Men with Grant’s kind of money often dressed casually in ways that required more money than formal clothes.
He looked like Carter around the eyes.
That bothered me.
“Sadie.”
“Grant.”
He glanced at Naomi.
“I thought this could be a family discussion.”
“I brought my family lawyer to discuss a family trust.”
A flicker of annoyance.
Gone immediately.
“Of course.”
He sat.
Naomi placed a recorder on the table after everyone agreed.
Grant smiled at me.
“I want to start by saying what happened to you was terrible.”
“Then start somewhere else.”
His smile disappeared.
I surprised myself.
Once, I would have softened that sentence.
Added please.
Maybe apologized.
Instead, I waited.
Grant folded his hands.
“The family has endured extraordinary scrutiny.”
“So have I.”
“Yes, but the difference is that scrutiny can create long-term consequences for businesses employing thousands of people.”
There it was.
Not Nora.
Not me.
The company.
“You asked me here because I wouldn’t sign.”
“I asked because I believe the agreement has been misunderstood.”
Naomi slid the covenant toward him.
“Which section?”
Grant ignored her.
“Sadie, Nora is going to grow up carrying a complicated last name.”
“She already carries it.”
“Exactly. We would like to protect her.”
“By controlling what her mother can say?”
“By preventing exploitation.”
My whole body went still.
Naomi looked at me, giving me the choice.
I took it.
“Whose exploitation?”
Grant leaned back.
“The media has shown substantial interest.”
“I haven’t given interviews.”
“I know.”
“I didn’t sell photographs.”
“I know.”
“I didn’t write a book.”
“No.”
“I walked past reporters outside the courthouse because my daughter’s life wasn’t entertainment.”
Grant exhaled.
“This isn’t personal.”
I almost laughed.
My attempted murder.
My premature daughter.
My husband’s affair.
My divorce.
A contract governing my speech.
But somehow none of it was personal.
“You know what Carter’s biggest problem used to be?” I asked.
Grant’s eyes narrowed.
“He believed money turned choices into favors. If he paid for something, he thought he had completed the emotional obligation attached to it.”
“This isn’t about Carter.”
“No. It’s about you making the same mistake with more zeroes.”
Grant’s jaw tightened.
Naomi remained silent.
I continued.
“If Nora is legally entitled to money, administer it according to the trust. If she isn’t, keep it. But you don’t get to place her inheritance on one side of the table and my voice on the other.”
“You’re willing to cost your daughter millions because you want the freedom to discuss private family matters?”
“No.”
I leaned forward.
“You’re willing to threaten a child’s inheritance because her mother won’t promise silence.”
For the first time, his control slipped.
His fingers tightened around the arm of the chair.
“You should be careful about accusing trustees of misconduct.”
“Then don’t commit any.”
Naomi touched my wrist.
Not to stop me.
A reminder that she was there.
Grant stood.
“This meeting was a mistake.”
“Yes.”
He gathered his coat.
At the door, he turned.
“I hope you understand something. Public sympathy is temporary.”
I looked directly at him.
“So is power.”
He left.
For several seconds, no one spoke.
Then Naomi said, “That was satisfying.”
I laughed.
The sound surprised all three of us.
But the satisfaction lasted less than forty-eight hours.
On Friday morning, Professor Warren called me into her office.
She closed the door.
Her computer screen showed an article from a financial gossip site.
The headline made my stomach drop.
HARBOR SURVIVOR DEMANDS MILLIONS FROM EX-HUSBAND’S DYNASTY
I read the first paragraph.
Then the second.
Anonymous sources claimed I had threatened to “reignite damaging allegations” unless Nora received preferential treatment from a family trust.
Another source described me as obsessed with Carter’s wealth.
The article mentioned my museum training.
My apartment neighborhood.
Nora’s age.
Not her photograph.
Thank God.
But enough.
My phone began vibrating.
Hannah.
Naomi.
An unknown number.
Then another.
Professor Warren turned the monitor away.
“Do you want to go home?”
My old instincts answered first.
Hide.
Disappear.
Make myself smaller until the danger passed.
Then I looked through the glass wall behind her.
My worktable was visible.
The wedding shawl waited exactly where I had left it.
I thought of all the things I had abandoned because someone else’s discomfort had been treated as more important than my desire.
“No.”
Lila studied me.
“No?”
“I want to finish the stabilization work before four.”
Her mouth curved slightly.
“Then finish it.”
My phone vibrated again.
Naomi’s message.
Do not respond publicly yet. We’re tracing the sourcing.
I put the phone facedown.
Twenty million dollars had failed to silence me.
Apparently humiliation was next.
They still didn’t understand.
I had already been humiliated in a harbor full of people while my husband swam away from me.
There were very few threats left that could compete with the memory of drowning.
May you like
And this time, I could breathe.
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