Chương 4 - WALTER’S TEST
Walter was already awake when Nathan and I entered the breakfast room at seven.
He had coffee.
Newspaper.
Perfectly calm.
Nathan put the trust documents on the table.
Walter looked once.
Then said:
“So you finally figured it out.”
Nathan froze.
“What?”
I stared.
Walter folded the newspaper.
“I've suspected Charles for six months.”
Nathan’s face went from confusion to fury in one second.
“You knew?”
“Suspected.”
“And you said nothing?”
“I told you I was concerned about the Hawthorne project.”
“You said costs were strange.”
“They were.”
“You did not say someone might be trying to remove you.”
“I didn't know.”
Nathan’s voice rose.
“You walked onto a stage anonymously while you suspected board-level fraud?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Walter looked tired.
“To see who recognized me.”
Silence.
I understood first.
“The auction.”
Walter nodded.
Nathan stared.
“You used a charity gala as surveillance?”
“I stood on a stage.”
“You knew board members would be there.”
“Yes.”
“You wanted to see who behaved differently before and after your name was announced.”
“Yes.”
I almost smiled.
“That’s why you refused a biography.”
Walter pointed at me.
“Exactly.”
Nathan looked betrayed.
“What did you learn?”
Walter’s expression changed.
“Charles recognized me immediately.”
Of course.
He had worked for Alden Civic eighteen years.
“But he didn’t bid,” Walter continued.
“Neither did Leonard.”
Nathan stared.
“Maybe they assumed someone else would.”
“Maybe.”
Walter sipped his coffee.
“Then you stood up.”
Nathan frowned.
“You hated that.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because you destroyed the test.”
I laughed.
Nathan glared.
Walter continued:
“Before you announced who I was, I could see who valued Walter.”
His eyes moved to me.
“After, I could only see who valued Alden.”
Nathan sat slowly.
“And Mara?”
“She was not supposed to happen.”
“Comforting.”
Walter smiled.
“You were the control group.”
I laughed.
Nathan rubbed both hands over his face.
“You could have told me.”
Walter’s expression softened.
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because I didn't know who around you I could trust.”
That hurt Nathan.
I saw it.
Walter saw it too.
“Nathan.”
“No.”
His son stood.
“You thought I might be involved?”
“I thought someone had access to your office.”
“That is not what I asked.”
Walter went quiet.
Nathan’s face hardened.
“Did you think I might be involved?”
A long silence.
“Yes.”
There.
Not loudly.
Still brutal.
Nathan walked out.
Walter closed his eyes.
I stared at him.
“That was cruel.”
“I know.”
“Was it necessary?”
“I don't know.”
“Then why?”
He looked older suddenly.
“My wife died. Nathan changed. He became harder. More secretive.”
“Grief does that.”
“Yes.”
“I don’t know either of you well enough, but that seems different from stealing seventeen million dollars.”
Walter almost smiled.
“You sound like Margaret.”
“Your wife?”
“Yes.”
“Was she smarter than you?”
“Constantly.”
I sat.
Walter looked toward the door Nathan had used.
“He thinks I don't trust him.”
“You didn't.”
“No.”
“Then he’s correct.”
Walter sighed.
The breakfast room went quiet.
Then:
“Mara, would you do me a favor?”
“That seems dangerous now.”
“Find him.”
“Why me?”
“Because if I go, he will hear father.”
“And if I go?”
“He may hear someone who doesn't owe either of us anything.”
“Walter.”
“Please.”
I found Nathan in the garage.
Of course.
Rich people apparently processed emotions among expensive cars.
He stood beside a black sedan staring at nothing.
“Your father sent me.”
“Of course.”
“I told him that was manipulative.”
“Thank you.”
“He still sent me.”
Nathan looked exhausted.
“He thought I might be stealing from him.”
“Yes.”
“You’re supposed to say no.”
“I met you four days ago.”
“Fair.”
I leaned against a workbench.
“He was afraid.”
“So?”
“So were you when you interrogated me at coat check.”
Nathan looked at me.
“I was protecting him.”
“Exactly.”
That annoyed him.
Good.
“Fear makes people suspicious.”
“You’re defending him.”
“No.”
“I told him he was cruel.”
Nathan blinked.
“What?”
“He liked me less for twelve seconds.”
Nathan almost smiled.
I continued.
“He also said grief changed you.”
The smile disappeared.
“My mother died during a board fight.”
I waited.
Nathan stared at the floor.
“She had pancreatic cancer. We knew the end was close.”
“I’m sorry.”
“There was a hostile bid for one of our manufacturing divisions. I kept leaving the hospital for calls.”
My chest tightened.
“The night she died, Dad was there.”
“And you?”
“Conference room.”
Silence.
“I got back nine minutes after.”
Nathan laughed once.
“I became CEO six weeks later.”
“And never stopped moving.”
“No.”
“Because?”
He looked at me.
“If I stop, I remember.”
There it was.
The thing beneath the CEO.
Not coldness.
Motion used as anesthesia.
I understood that too.
Freelance work had become my version after my father died.
Invoices.
Deadlines.
Anything except quiet.
“I’m sorry.”
Nathan nodded.
Then:
“You have six dollars.”
“I have work due Friday.”
“Not the point.”
“I know.”
“Why are you still freelancing if clients don't pay?”
“Because being poor does not automatically mean I chose the wrong career.”
He looked at me.
“Fair.”
“My father owned a hardware store for twenty-seven years. One bad expansion and a bank killed it.”
“I’m sorry.”
“So am I.”
I smiled faintly.
“He used to say people respect success because they can see it. They don’t know what to do with effort before it works.”
Nathan looked toward the house.
“Your father and mine would have argued.”
“Probably.”
Then his phone rang.
Elise Moreno.
Nathan answered.
Listened.
His face changed.
“What?”
I asked when he ended the call.
“Board emergency meeting.”
“When?”
“Ten.”
“Why?”
“Someone submitted a formal concern regarding my father’s cognitive capacity.”
I stopped breathing.
“Who?”
Nathan looked toward the house.
“Charles Mercer.”
May you like
The takeover had begun.
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