Chapter 25 - Patricia Comes Home
Patricia returned to Manhattan two weeks later.
Technically, she had never left.
But the woman who walked into the Bennett Aero headquarters barely resembled the one who had once ordered me toward Economy while drinking champagne.
Her court sentence had not included prison beyond time served.
She received supervised probation, restitution obligations, community service, and strict financial monitoring after cooperating extensively with prosecutors.
For the first several months she had blamed everyone.
Richard.
Me.
Arthur.
The prosecutors.
The judge.
Bad attorneys.
Bad luck.
Eventually, there was nobody left to blame who would listen.
Now she stood in my reception area wearing a plain navy coat from a department store.
No diamonds.
No designer handbag.
No entourage.
My assistant Sarah entered.
“Patricia Miller is here.”
She had stopped using Bennett.
That surprised me.
“Did she say why?”
“She wants to speak with you and Mason.”
I looked across the office.
Mason had been temporarily hired as a paid compliance intern three days earlier.
Not executive.
Not management.
Intern.
Twenty-two dollars an hour.
Arthur nearly swallowed his glasses when I approved it.
Mason accepted without complaint.
His desk was on the nineteenth floor beside twenty-three-year-olds fresh out of college.
He took the subway.
He brought sandwiches from home.
And when somebody asked him to make copies, he made copies.
“Bring him up,” I said.
Ten minutes later, Patricia entered.
Mason froze.
“Mom?”
Her face broke when she saw him.
“Oh, sweetheart.”
She moved forward.
Mason stepped back.
Patricia stopped.
That hurt her.
Good.
Some wounds needed acknowledgment before healing.
“I heard what happened in London,” she said.
“How?”
“Your probation officer contacted me.”
Mason looked away.
Patricia turned toward me.
“Thank you for bringing him home.”
“I didn’t do it for you.”
“I know.”
That was new too.
She sat carefully.
“I came because Richard’s attorneys contacted me.”
Mason’s expression hardened.
“What does he want?”
“He wants me to testify that Nora manipulated the family finances and pushed him into the Halcyon deal.”
I laughed once.
“Of course.”
Patricia removed an envelope.
“They offered me money.”
“How much?”
“Two hundred thousand.”
Mason stared at her.
“Please tell me you didn’t take it.”
She looked at her son.
“A year ago, I would have.”
Then she handed the envelope to me.
Inside were copies of emails from Richard’s defense team and an offshore payment proposal.
Arthur would enjoy that.
“I already sent copies to prosecutors,” Patricia said.
I studied her.
“Why?”
She took a slow breath.
“Because I’m tired.”
Not dramatic.
Not noble.
Just tired.
“I spent thirty years trying to make strangers jealous of me. I married men because I wanted a better address. I pushed Mason because I wanted to brag about him.”
Her eyes moved toward him.
“I never once asked whether he was happy.”
Mason’s jaw tightened.
“No.”
“I know.”
“You made me think being ordinary was failure.”
Tears filled her eyes.
“I know.”
“You taught me Nora was the enemy.”
“I know.”
“You used me to compete with a dead woman.”
That one broke her.
Patricia covered her mouth.
“I know.”
Nobody rescued her from the silence.
Finally she lowered her hands.
“I am sorry.”
Mason looked toward the windows.
The old him would have exploded.
The new Mason simply asked:
“For what?”
Patricia stared.
He continued.
“Don’t say everything. That’s easy.”
Her tears fell.
“For telling you money could replace character. For making you believe people existed to impress or use. For encouraging you to humiliate Nora because her existence made me insecure.”
She looked at me.
“And for entering Eleanor’s home and behaving as though loving Richard entitled me to erase her.”
My throat tightened.
That was the first apology from Patricia that sounded like truth.
“I don’t expect forgiveness,” she said.
“Good,” I replied.
She almost smiled.
“Fair.”
I stood and walked to the window.
“What are you doing now?”
“Cleaning offices at night.”
Mason’s head turned.
“What?”
“Three buildings in Queens.”
Patricia shrugged weakly.
“It pays eighteen fifty an hour. Apparently nobody cares that I once chaired charity galas.”
Mason gave a strange laugh.
She laughed too.
For a moment they looked like mother and son instead of partners in an illusion.
Patricia stood to leave.
At the door, Mason spoke.
“Mom.”
She turned.
“I’m not ready.”
Her face fell slightly.
“But maybe someday we can get coffee.”
Hope returned carefully.
“I’d like that.”
After she left, Mason stood beside me.
“Do you believe her?”
“I believe today’s version.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means people prove change over time.”
Mason nodded.
Then smiled faintly.
“Patience over pride?”
I looked at my mother’s watch.
“Exactly.”
May you like
Neither of us knew that Richard still had one final weapon left.
And it was already moving toward New York.
