Chapter 9 - THE BOARDROOM
James resurfaced forty-eight hours later.
Through his attorney.
He wanted a meeting.
Not with police.
With me.
Daniel advised against going alone.
I agreed.
Another thing the old Eleanor might not have done.
We met at Whitaker Urban Development's headquarters.
Board members present.
Independent counsel.
Investigators aware.
Holly was not there.
James entered looking immaculate.
That angered me.
I had barely slept.
He still looked like a magazine profile.
He sat across from me.
“Eleanor.”
“James.”
He glanced at Daniel.
“You brought an audience.”
“So did you at my mother's grave.”
His jaw tightened.
Good.
I placed the stock certificate on the table.
His face changed.
Tiny.
But I saw it.
“You found Rosewood.”
“I found everything.”
“Not everything.”
There was still arrogance.
Amazing.
I slid copies of forged authorizations across the table.
Then the altered trust page.
Then the life-insurance policy.
Then Mom's recorded conversation.
For the first time, James looked genuinely shaken.
“She recorded me?”
“Yes.”
He laughed bitterly.
“Of course she did.”
“Don't.”
“What?”
“Talk about her like you knew her.”
He went quiet.
Board counsel explained the emergency resolution.
Pending investigation, James's signing authority would be suspended.
A temporary executive committee would take control.
My mother's estate shares would vote.
James looked at me.
“You're taking my company.”
“No.”
I finally understood the difference.
“I'm stopping you from using it.”
The vote passed.
Six to three.
James was suspended.
He sat completely still.
Then looked at me.
“Holly put you up to this?”
I almost felt sorry for him.
He still believed women acted only through other people.
“No.”
“You think she'll stay loyal to you?”
“This isn't about Holly.”
“It always became about Holly with you.”
I stared.
“With me?”
“You stopped seeing me after your mother got sick.”
For one second, the room disappeared.
He was blaming my grief for his affair.
I laughed.
Not kindly.
“My mother was dying.”
“I was lonely.”
Several board members looked away.
James realized too late how ugly that sounded.
Then he leaned forward.
“You want the truth? Your mother hated me from the beginning.”
“No.”
“She did.”
“She distrusted you.”
“Same thing.”
“No, James. Hate is emotional. Distrust is evidence-based.”
Daniel coughed to hide a laugh.
James glared.
Then he said:
“She wasn't perfect.”
“I never said she was.”
“She hid money from you.”
“She protected assets from you.”
“That is what she told herself.”
He reached into his briefcase.
Before counsel could stop him, he placed a document on the table.
A birth certificate.
Mine.
I frowned.
“What is this?”
“Ask Daniel.”
Daniel's face changed.
James smiled for the first time.
“You think Margaret Ellis spent her life protecting Eleanor from me?”
He tapped the document.
“She spent thirty-eight years hiding Eleanor from someone else.”
My birth certificate listed no father.
That wasn't new.
Mom always told me my biological father left before I was born.
But James had another document.
A paternity acknowledgment.
Unsigned.
Name:
May you like
Robert Whitaker.
James's father.
