Unspoken
Page 18
John pulled a piece of soggy cardboard from the water. “She isn’t married, this is over. About the time you finish selling the last of the coins, she’ll have Graham Enterprises emptied of Fred’s family possessions and have it ready to be sold to the employees. She’ll have her life back.”
“She could do a lot of good with the money, John.”
“She could.” John picked up the trash bag. “What’s your point, Bryce?”
“There’s nothing right about this.”
“You expect life to be fair, you haven’t learned much from Charlotte yet. She lost four years of her life. She still can’t go see her sister without risking a reporter catching sight of her and destroying her carefully built privacy around a new name. Her grandfather shows up when she’s thirty-two and upends her life again. Now she’s doing her best to deal with the estate while protecting her sister and nieces from the weight of it. The will has strings—it’s par for the course.”
“Does her sister know the size of it?”
“Fred told her he had sizable family wealth, and she said a few swearwords even I hadn’t heard before. Tabitha is a strange bird, Bryce. She’s famous from the modeling, wealthy now in her own right from endorsements, has a husband who goes through money gambling, and she’s terrified she can’t protect her girls as they are now coming up on age sixteen. I won’t say she’s paranoid, but I would say she’s severely stressed. Even though Charlotte bore the brunt of it all, she has healed from what happened a lot more than Tabitha has. I would guess Tabitha thinks Fred’s estate is in the few-hundred-million-dollar range, and Charlotte, wisely I think, hasn’t corrected that assumption.”
“It should be theirs. Charlotte’s and her sister’s.”
“Should be. That’s not reality.” John shoved the truck tailgate up. “I’m marrying Ellie, if the woman ever decides she wants to take a risk on marriage. She’s got a darker past than Charlotte, so I’m not holding my breath for when she’s going to say yes, but I’m not letting go of that ideal.”
John pulled off his work gloves. “Charlotte should be married if she wants to be. She should have the money if she wants it. I don’t think she wants to be married, and I know she doesn’t want the burden of the money. But it’s her choice. You want to consider it, Bryce, tell her you’ll marry her. She could do worse. I’d tell her that if she asked.”
“I’m no more into an arranged marriage than she is.”
John smiled. “A problem of timing, not of interest. You’ve been thinking on the idea at the edges.”
“Maybe.”
“Her grandfather assumed he could box her into a corner with the money. He assumed wrong. She could do a lot of good with that cash, but she won’t try to meet those terms.”
“I heard that in Charlotte’s answer. The certainty she’ll decline it.”
“She will. Even if I was inclined to pursue it, which I’m not, she wouldn’t consider marrying me because of Ellie. She values that friendship at priceless. Charlotte will keep enough of the Graham money that she and her sister stay comfortable for a lifetime, give the rest away, and let the remaining estate go. I know her. Charlotte’s made her decision.”
“What happens to the money after three years?”
“The trust keeps rolling on, being managed by a law firm, which seems to exist primarily to support it. With no appointed successor, it will enter a slow liquidation. The firm will eventually dole out the money as it sees fit over the next fifty years to various medical institutions. Knowing lawyers, they’ll probably find a way to slow even that process down so the trust is still feeding the law firm an income a hundred years from now. But it’s no longer Charlotte’s concern.”
“How many people know?”
“The total size of the trust—about twenty people at the law firm and who knows how many at the IRS. That Charlotte is the possible successor trustee—four, best I can tell. Fred’s personal lawyer, and the three people she’s elected to tell—Ellie, myself, now you. The rest of the law firm is under the impression the trust has now entered liquidation, as no successor trustee was appointed when Fred died—the fact there is a three-year window for the appointment is being held as a sealed fact to protect Charlotte. If she accepts the terms and marries, becomes the successor trustee—the people who know her name will rise to six to eight at the law firm and hopefully be contained to that. They have no incentive to get removed as the administrators of the trust by sharing what’s very privileged information.”
“How’s the security around her? Does she have enough?”
“She’s got lifetime coverage, Bryce, whatever I think she needs. Wouldn’t matter if she was married or not, and wouldn’t exactly be her choice. Her grandfather paid me in advance. Mitch, Joseph, or I have been around her the last couple of years. Her decision changes, the situation with the press changes, I’ll make adjustments.”
“I’m glad to hear it.”
“She’s got enough to think about without worrying about security. Her sister’s got the same; that was the one thing Tabitha was willing to accept from Fred. I’ve got a friend in New York managing it. Tabitha and her girls are as safe as common sense can make them.”
“When you said Ellie has a darker history than Charlotte’s—where did they meet?”
“The Keeler-Resse clinic in Houston.”
“Is Ellie doing okay?”
“She learned being stubborn from Charlotte. She’s fine,” John replied.
“I like her. She makes Charlotte laugh.”
“They’re the sister each one needs.”
“A perfect description of it.” Bryce pushed his hands into his pockets. “What does Ellie think?”
“She wants Charlotte to accept the terms and get married.”
“To you?”
John smiled. “To you.”
Bryce thought it through as he drove back to Chicago. There were no easy steps now that he knew the scope of the situation. He could see a different reality now that he knew what had really been happening over the last months. Eight billion seven. Charlotte, John, and Ellie had known that before he had ever been approached.
Charlotte had made her decision, and he could feel the fact she was settled, maybe even comfortable with it. John’s interests in the matter seemed more aligned with simply keeping life calm no matter what the decision was. The man was relaxed enough about the cash already flowing around that he would adjust to whatever amount was involved without losing his equilibrium. Ellie. There was a conversation that needed to be had, and it wasn’t with Charlotte.
God, I need Ellie to be honest with me, open and willing to talk about Charlotte, because I need the full picture of what’s going on. Help me get the facts, as best I can, from those who know the situation. When I’m finally home, I want a pizza delivered in, a few cold sodas, and a conversation with you that is going to be deep and wide and long. I feel like I just got hit by a fastball I didn’t know was coming at me.
He let the prayer linger in his thoughts as he drove into Chicago and headed first to Ellie’s place. Bryce walked up the steps and rang the bell, not sure if Ellie would be home. She opened the door a minute later.
“Can we talk?”
“I’ve been expecting you, Bryce.” She stepped back and let him inside.
Ellie led him back to the kitchen where she was washing up from what looked like a marathon cooking session. She handed him a dish towel and went back to scrubbing a cookie sheet. He picked up a muffin tin to dry.
He studied this lady who was Charlotte’s best friend, the quiet, organized one keeping Charlotte’s art and life flowing efficiently and safely by—and, he realized, the one protecting her even more than John. He set down the tin, picked up another one to dry. “You were the planner behind the approach to me. The introduction phone call, the store, the progressive steps to the breadth of the coins and what this really was. You were the planner, not Charlotte.”
Ellie nodded. “I gamed it out for her.”
“Yes.”
“What else? You had more.”
“I know some people who know you. They answered a few questions for me.”
“And the charitable giving? No ones knows, Ellie, but somehow you do.”
“You told me.”
“I did?”
“God didn’t make you an astronaut, an explorer, like your younger brother; didn’t make you comfortable with danger, a submariner with a heart for defending the country, like your older brother. He made you a businessman, able to earn money and enjoy the work, and gave you a heart to give. You want to be a good businessman and give generously. That’s the legacy you want, have always wanted.”
It actually sounded like him. “When?”
“You were teaching a class at your church. You talked that morning on the subject of God’s faithfulness, and about the responsibility to be faithful in return. You answered a question from a lady in the back of the room. I asked you about being an artist, what was my responsibility to God for the talent I couldn’t explain, and you answered me with your own story.”
He absorbed that answer. “You’re an artist too. Like Charlotte. You’re not just in the business of art.”
“I’m excellent at both.”
“Why don’t you exhibit your works?”
“I do. But that’s a conversation for another time, Bryce, and not why you’re here.” She dried her hands. “Ask me the question you came here to ask.”
“Why do you want Charlotte to get married? Why did you choose me? You did select me, didn’t you, Ellie?”
“I want her to be happy . . . more than she is now. And I want her to have the money. It’s eight billion dollars, Bryce. I think she’d be crazy to turn it down. The condition is one that for anyone else wouldn’t be a reason to say no. I’m her best friend. The fact she says she’s not getting married and means it breaks my heart. I want her to share her life with someone who can help her build new memories, so she isn’t living a life still haunted by the past. I want her to have the choice to be married or not, to have the freedom to be able to make that choice in the present, not bound by the past. She should have the money if she wants it.”
“Ellie, she’s going to turn it down.”
“Probably. Likely. But she needs the choice. As to why you—Bryce, that’s simple. You’re Mrs. B’s son.”
“Mom?”
“She’s a wonderful teacher. Charlotte had her for fifth grade. I’d guess you got your interest in teaching from her.”
He reached for a chair at the kitchen table and tugged it out. “I think I need to hear the story, Ellie, and hear the plan. The real one. The one you didn’t tell Charlotte.”
She considered him, then offered a rich smile. “I’ve done a few with layers when it’s been necessary. But in this case—no other hidden layers, Bryce. Just a knowledge of your family, of the fact I would like Charlotte’s world to have that kind of extended family around her. She has to make a decision if she’s going to marry. She won’t marry John even if I think that’s best for her. And Charlotte—she isn’t going to date if horses tried to drag her to meet someone.
“That left doors I could open, and coins was the door that had the most interesting possibilities. I could have used the land, but that would have led to lawyers or finance guys, and a certain level of . . . sophistication, for want of a better word, that just isn’t where Charlotte would prefer to reside. I wanted a comfortable guy she could trust, and a way to cause your paths to cross. You were my choice. I found her a husband because she’s my best friend and she would never go looking if I left it up to her.”
He pointed to one of the cookies on the plate and she nodded. He took a bite of a sugar cookie and considered her, weighing her words. “You’re a good friend, you know that?”
“I’m a best friend.”
“People would say I married her for her money.”
“People would be wrong. She married you for her money.”
Bryce smiled, appreciating the distinction. “It’s a lot of money, Ellie. I’m not sure what I think about it yet.”
“There’s a slap-in-the-face kind of reality to it when you sit down and try to write out all the zeros, then repeatedly divide it by two in order to reach a number you’re comfortable with. It’s six splits larger than I know what to deal with. Worse for Charlotte, as she prefers to wince at the twelve hundred dollars I charge for one of her sketches. I’d sell them for two thousand, which is where the market is at for her works, but she’d start tearing up more of the sketches than she does now because she’d feel like they weren’t perfect enough for that price. She’s ripped up fifty thousand dollars’ worth of sketches so far this year. She’s killing me. I’d like to be able to grab them out of her hands first.”
Bryce laughed. “You’re perfect for her, Ellie.”
“I’m a very good manager of art and artists.” Ellie studied him. “Charlotte needs you, Bryce, for a lot more reasons than the money. She’s not comfortable being alone, no matter how much she tries to present that to the world. She’s most comfortable when she’s with people. She needs a world she can capture in that sketchbook, something that is more than strangers and the latest town she’s decided to drive through. She needs the family home, the dogs, the people who stay in her life for decades. That’s where her talent really lies. You want to see a genius-level sketch, ask her to show you her collection of sketches she’s made of John.
“John made an agreement with her, back in the first days of being her bodyguard, that she was free to sketch him for practice. He’d even cooperate on helping her get a drawing right, if she would promise to never sell one with him in it. From his background in the military he taught her faces, how to see them, how to divide them down into parts, to notice the expressions and understand how they were conveyed in all the elements of a face.
“He taught her to see places, how to notice what was there and what was out of place, how to see people and understand what they were doing, where they were heading, what was on their mind—all from what was observable. He was passing on a soldier’s attention to detail to locate the roadside bomb, the friendly approaching with a hidden intention, but he didn’t bother to tell her that at the time. He just taught her to see.” Ellie poured two glasses of ice tea and carried them over to the table.
“Charlotte will be subtle about it, but she’ll reach for what’s real about a place. Her sketches are about interesting places, about people who catch her attention. But she captures life, and life can leave rough edges in its passing. You’ll see the dropped piece of trash, the broken latch, the flower that’s been stepped on, the board that has warped. The details. You can’t mimic a sketch of hers, her style, even though many have begun to try—there’s a quality in her work, a way she sees the world that is unique to her. She’s become an artist with a voice. Her words are simply written with a line of pen or pencil.”
Bryce took the glass Ellie offered and waited while Ellie took a seat at the table across from him. “Charlotte put a fingerprint on the Bishop Chicago window glass—the sketch she gave me as a housewarming gift,” he mentioned. “An inside joke, I think. The print is inside the glass of the frame, but perfectly centered to the window in the sketch. Not an accident. I smile every time I see it.”
Ellie smiled. “She’ll be glad you noticed. That’s the conversation, Bishop. The subtle one. If you want to listen to Charlotte, to really hear her, watch for the whispers, the small things that show up in her interactions with you. She’s careful around people. Spontaneous isn’t easy for her. She’s quiet and deliberate about how she moves to different topics, what she decides to say when, but she’s
got a good memory that shows she’s really noticed you, along with a wicked sense of humor if you’re not careful.”
“I’ve picked up on some of that a few times.”
He turned the glass in his hand. “I understand why you think she’s better off being part of a family than not. What else are you thinking about, Ellie, when you think Charlotte should be married?”
She was quiet for a long moment. “If she can handle being married,” she said quietly, “maybe I can too.”
He realized the simplicity of that, the depth of it, and nodded. “John would like to marry you. Charlotte’s told me that. John has told me that.”
“He’s asked. I’m not ready to open that door yet.”
“Do you think Charlotte is?”
“I think she’d like to be brave enough to at least crack it open, look at what’s on the other side. But she hasn’t had enough time yet to find the courage for it. She’s busy, but she’s thinking. That’s why she’s on the road so much when she could easily send others to take things to her stores. She’s thinking. She sees the potential of the money, Bryce, the scale of what eight billion can do.
“I think it scares her, the idea of being responsible for something that large, and she’s afraid of how her life changes if it’s hers to deal with. But she has been thinking about it. I get messages from her when she’s on the road, questions and research and what-ifs, the hypotheticals that show her mentally sketching out what could be done with it. She may have decided she isn’t getting married, but the separate question of what she could do with the money—she’s been weighing that for two years now. The door is open for three years after Fred’s death, and she’s going to live with her decision with her eyes wide open to what it means if she says a final no. There’s courage in saying that no—as much as there is in saying yes.”
“How difficult is this decision for her, Ellie?”
“I couldn’t make it.”
“How bad are her flashbacks going to be?”
She bit her lip and pushed back her chair. “Come with me.”
She walked down the hall to the guest bedroom, turned on the lights. She tapped her fist against the inside of the door and he stepped inside, looked. There were two strong locks on the inside of the door.