The Trust

by Tom Dolby

  Nick turned around and left the library, walking down the hall to get his coat. He would have looked for Phoebe, but he sensed that he should give her some time to cool off. As he rode down in the elevator, he hoped he would never have to set foot in the Chilton apartment again.

  PART IV

  THE RETURN

  Chapter Fifty-Five

  Six days later, starting after midnight, three enormous trucks arrived at Eaton House in Southampton. Eight workers dressed in black who billed themselves as a “white-glove delivery service” loaded the artworks out a back entrance of the estate’s main house. The company was known for its discretion and didn’t question why it was taking sixteen historically significant paintings to a warehouse near Islip Airport on Long Island, where the pieces would be repackaged, addressed to their respective museums and owners, and sent via private air courier.

  Two days later Nick saw that the story was on the front page of every major newspaper in the world. Because all the museums had issued amnesties on the return of each piece, no investigations would be started. Some of the museums wanted to identify the party who returned the artwork so that they could issue a reward, which, in at least one case amounted to five million dollars.

  Not surprisingly, and much to the relief of the institutions, in the days that followed, no one came forward.

  The day the story broke, Nick asked his father to meet him at the Society’s town house on East 66th Street. He remembered when he and Phoebe and Lauren had asked to meet his father at the town house in December, and how their request had been rejected. Charles Lawrence, the leader of the Conscripts, had met with them instead, which had given them no answers.

  This time, Nick had written his father a note, leaving it on the desk in his study. Taped to the bottom of the note was a clipping from the New York Times about the return of the paintings.

  That would, he thought, make the message clear.

  When Nick arrived at the town house at three o’clock, Parker was waiting for him. His father was sitting in the parlor on the first floor, drinking a cup of tea. The building was quiet, and Nick wondered if anyone ever used it during the day, apart from the Administrator. Perhaps the occasional member took advantage of it, but it seemed like the house was used mostly for parties.

  “Nick.”

  Nick nodded at his father. “There’s something you need to see.” Nick pulled out his laptop, put it on the coffee table, and slid in a DVD.

  “What is this? Nick, I have a very busy day. I don’t have time to watch some little home movie of yours.”

  On the screen, an image flickered. Nick heard his father gasp.

  First, there was an exterior shot of Eaton House, complete with its address in the frame. The camera led the viewer into the house, through the main entryway, down the hallway, into the kitchen, and down to the basement. A time code appeared on the footage, from two days ago.

  “How on earth did you—”

  “It gets better,” Nick said. “Just watch.”

  The shot continued down into the basement. A team of men from the white-glove service were unpacking each of the artworks in order to inspect and record its condition. There were close-ups of each of the pieces: the Degas, the Rembrandt, the Vermeer, the Pollock, even the forged Leonardo da Vinci.

  “You need to destroy this recording!” Parker said. “What were you thinking? How did you get access to this? Horatio was supposed to manage it all with the utmost discretion.”

  Horatio had been told by Nick and Patch, two days earlier, that the artworks needed to be filmed for insurance purposes, in case anything happened to them in transit. The butler, whose only desire was to do right by his late employer, accepted the explanation, and had allowed Nick and Patch to film the proceedings. Nick had barely believed that they had gotten away with it. But he still needed this next part of the plan to work.

  The film continued, with a shot of the paintings being loaded onto the trucks, and the trucks pulling out of the front gate of the estate.

  “Nick, this is absurd. I don’t know why you would make such a film. What do you want?”

  Nick leaned forward to stop the clip. His heart was pounding. “We have copies of this DVD, ready to be sent to every major news organization. The Times, CNN, Reuters, the Associated Press.” What he didn’t mention was that Patch had also sent a copy to Eliot Walker in Maine, who would put it in Patch’s safe-deposit box. Patch had also already uploaded the footage to several remote servers. Among all of them, the footage was sure to stay intact.

  Parker groaned. “Nick, I cannot believe that you did this! You need to destroy all those DVDs. This is absolutely absurd. Do you realize what damage you are potentially causing? I need you not to send those DVDs.”

  “We won’t send them,” Nick said, “if you grant us one thing.”

  “What’s that? Do you want access to your trust fund early? I’d be happy to—”

  “No, Dad. I think you know what we want. We want out of the Society. I want you to release me, Patch, Phoebe, Lauren, and Thad. You have to do it—you have no choice.”

  “This is not what your grandfather would have wanted.”

  “I’m not so sure about that,” Nick said. “I don’t think he was as enamored with the Society as you think.”

  “Well, you’ve certainly become very plucky lately,” Parker said. “I would be impressed, if it didn’t make me so angry. You do realize this will affect your inheritance, don’t you? And as the guardian of the trusts that Palmer set up for you and Patch, I can make it very difficult for you to access them.”

  “Dad, we don’t care. Money isn’t important to us. The trusts aren’t important to us. Not Palmer’s trusts, nor the Bradford Trust. What’s more important to us is our freedom.”

  “You are determined to be an Infidel to the end, aren’t you?”

  Nick shrugged off the comment. “You have to release us. How are you going to do it?”

  Parker seemed stymied. “I don’t know—we hardly ever . . . I suppose I’ll have to consult the Council. There must be some kind of procedure for this.” He looked at Nick. “Do you realize what a disappointment this is, Nick?”

  “Only for you, Dad. It’s only a disappointment for you.”

  Nick got up, taking his laptop with him.

  “We want it to happen in the next twenty-four hours,” Nick said. “If it doesn’t, we will send out the film. Electronically as well as via courier. It will be in the news by this time tomorrow if you don’t give us an answer.”

  “Will you leave a copy of the DVD?” Parker said. “How will I prove to them that this needs to be done?”

  “I’m sure you’ll find a way,” Nick said.

  He exited the town house, leaving his father behind. The first thing he wanted to do was to call Phoebe, to tell her that they had finally won, that they would be released. It was everything he knew she wanted.

  He had left her a few messages over the past several days, but none of them were returned. He figured she was probably still angry with him over their fight, but he hoped that his actions today would make things right.

  He called her, but it went to voice mail. He left her a short message to call him, and texted her as well with a simple note:

  THINGS HAVE CHANGED.

  Chapter Fifty-Six

  On the third day of spring break, Phoebe was on an airplane headed for Los Angeles. She had put on her iPod and was trying to zone out, in the hopes that being a few thousand miles away from New York would solve some of her problems.

  It had all started about a week earlier, after she had returned home from the Chilton cocktail party. Her mother had announced that she and Daniel were getting engaged. The two of them were drinking champagne in the living room, and they invited her to join them, but Phoebe had refused. Instead, she ran upstairs and locked her door. She was sensing the crazy feelings coming back—the panicked, suffocating emotions she had experienced last fall when the Society had started to close in on he
r. It wasn’t only about Daniel. It was the art theft thing and the way Nick had handled it. Did her boyfriend not have any courage at all? When he had justified it to her, he sounded just as bad as his grandfather, the cowardly art thief. Nothing that any of them had done in the past few months—nearly all of which had been spearheaded by Nick—had gotten them any closer to getting out of the Society. He was as bad as the Elders: a player in an elaborate game set up for their own amusement.

  A few days later, when the feelings hadn’t abated, she booked herself a ticket for Los Angeles.

  Now, having boarded the plane at JFK, almost no one knew where she was going. Not Nick, not her mother, not Daniel. Not even her father, whom she would be visiting.

  The only person who knew where she was going was Lauren. Her friend hadn’t encouraged her to go, but she had promised Phoebe she could keep a secret.

  Nick had left her multiple messages, but Phoebe hadn’t returned them. She loved Nick—for his humor, for his handsome smile, for his worldly perspective—but she had finally admitted to herself that perhaps they weren’t meant to be together. Nick Bell, the shiny new boy she had met last fall, hadn’t lived up to everything she had expected of him.

  Phoebe checked the return address on the last letter her father had sent her, hoping it was still correct. It was an address in the Hollywood Hills, a desirable location. She was looking forward to the quiet, to time with her father, to walking the winding roads in his neighborhood, to hanging out by the pool, to immersing herself in a novel. Far away from everything in New York. As the plane was starting down the runway and everyone was asked to turn off their phones, a text message came through from Nick, along with a voice mail. She didn’t bother listening to the voice mail, but she read the text:

  THINGS HAVE CHANGED.

  She doubted it.

  Phoebe’s plane touched down in Los Angeles, waking her from a restless sleep, her neck stiff and sore. She wished everything that had happened was merely a bad dream, but she knew it wasn’t.

  During the cab ride from the airport, she was grateful that she had packed sunglasses in her carry-on, for the Southern California light was blinding. It wasn’t particularly warm, as it was only March, and the West Coast wasn’t ever as warm in the spring as people thought it was, but the sunshine still felt good on her face.

  Her cab pulled up at the house and she paid the driver. She buzzed the gate and waited for an answer. Finally she was let in by a housekeeper, who helped her with her rolling suitcase.

  The house was stark and white, a modernist dream on a hill. She had never been there before, as her father had bought it after she and her mother had moved to New York. There was a Warhol Jackie in the entryway. Her father must have been doing well.

  Phoebe’s dad, Preston Dowling, came sauntering into the main foyer. He was wearing a sweater and jeans and looked like he had been working from home.

  “Phoebe, it’s so good to see you!” He gave her a hug. “I had no idea—are you okay? You don’t look—”

  “I know,” she said. “I don’t really look my best.” She knew her hair was stringy, and that all the stress had been expressing itself in her body: she was breaking out, and she looked pale, with dark circles under her eyes.

  “What’s going on, honey?” He finally let go of her, and she realized she was about to start crying.

  “Dad, I want to leave Chadwick,” she said. “I want to move back to Los Angeles and live with you.”

  Chapter Fifty-Seven

  Phoebe’s departure for Los Angeles had hit Lauren hard. While she knew there were other factors, she feared that her flippant comment at the Chilton cocktail party had encouraged Phoebe to leave town. Lauren kept playing that conversation over and over in her mind, wishing she could somehow change it. But no matter what she said to her friend, Phoebe was certain that a break from New York was what she needed.

  And maybe the trip would be good for her. Lauren really didn’t know what was best for her friend.

  When spring break started, Lauren’s little sister, Allison, had returned home from boarding school in Connecticut, filled with stories about school that she wanted to tell her older sister. When Lauren let her know that she would be leaving for Paris in just under week, Allison didn’t hide her disappointment.

  It was only then that Lauren realized how little time she had spent with her family lately. Her mother, Diana, had been working overtime on the Chilton apartment project. Lauren wondered if they would miss some of the springtime rituals they had enjoyed in years past: taking walks down Park Avenue and admiring the first tulip blooms, strolling through Central Park and watching the first boats go out on the freshly thawed pond.

  A day after her sister arrived home, Lauren took the subway down to Giroux New York. Sebastian was on the sales floor and had just finished conferring with Sabrina about a floor display.

  “Can I talk to you?” Lauren asked. Her mouth had gone dry. She and Sebastian had become so familiar in recent months, and now he already felt like a stranger.

  “Of course,” he said. “Come with me. How’s my favorite designer? Are you packing for Paris?”

  Lauren took a deep breath. His charm was making this difficult. “Sebastian,” she finally said, “I can’t go on the trip.”

  “No—Lauren! You must! You’d be missing such an opportunity.”

  “I understand that,” Lauren said calmly. “I just—”

  They entered his office, and she sat down. Sebastian looked at her sternly over his desk that was strewn with papers and sketches.

  “The Colette people will be so disappointed. Can I ask why? Did something happen?”

  “Sort of,” she said. “I just feel like I need to focus on my schoolwork.” It was a weak excuse, but she didn’t know how to voice her real feelings.

  “But, Lauren, my dear, you’re already on break,” Sebastian said. “What kind of schoolwork would you possibly have?”

  “It’s not only that. I need to start feeling like a real person again,” Lauren said. “People my age don’t fly to Paris to launch a jewelry line. I don’t need all the stress in my life. I thought that I wanted it, but I don’t. I know that I can do it, and I have the rest of my life to try, but I’m never going to get this time back again.”

  “Lauren, you’re losing out on a tremendous chance. Don’t you realize what other people would give to be able to do this?”

  “Yes,” Lauren said, nodding. “I do.” That was exactly the point: she knew what she had needed to give up.

  “The buyers at Colette were so pleased with your designs. But I can’t guarantee that they’ll be so happy if they know that you can’t attend the unveiling.”

  “I guess that’s a risk I’m going to have to take,” Lauren said. “I’ll pay for the airline ticket, if it’s not refundable. It’s the right thing to do.” She thought about how Thad wouldn’t be able to go, either. But he would understand. As long as she was tied up with Giroux New York and with Sebastian, she would be connected to the Society. As much as she tried to pretend that wasn’t the case, she couldn’t deny it.

  “It’s not about money!” Sebastian said. “It’s about the experience. What about the rest of the line?”

  “That’s another thing,” Lauren said. “I love doing the line. I really do. But I need to take a break. The work doesn’t feel original anymore, not to me. It’s inspired by earlier pieces, tweaked with my own touches. That may sell because people like it, but that’s not what I want to be doing.”

  Sebastian was silent for a moment. “Well, this is certainly unexpected. I had no idea. I don’t really have a choice except to drop the line.”

  Lauren nodded. “I understand.”

  Sebastian buzzed Sabrina on the intercom, asking her to come to his office.

  “Lauren, we’re going to have to ask you to clear out your office,” he said. “We’ll have a town car waiting. I’ll be in touch with our legal team tomorrow so that we can sever the relationship.”

>   “Thank you, Sebastian,” she said.

  An hour later, she walked out of the building on 14th Street, followed by two security guards carrying boxes filled with her sketches, notebooks, and personal effects.

  In the fashion world, she may have lost everything, but at that moment, she had never felt more free.

  Chapter Fifty-Eight

  After the conversation with his father at the town house, Nick spent the night at Patch’s apartment, as he figured it was the only safe place for him to be. Once Nick and his friends were officially released from the Society, he hoped he would feel secure going back to his parents’ place, but until then, he wanted to stay out of their apartment. He had removed his computer and any significant personal belongings from his bedroom, and he was camped out in Patch’s living room.

  Most of all, it felt important to be close to his brother.

  The following morning passed slowly. Genie didn’t feel the boys should leave the apartment until they knew what was going to happen. As of noon, word still hadn’t come.

  “This is just like them,” Patch said. “Everything at the last minute.”

  “At least we’re prepared,” Nick said. “I’ve called Lauren and Thad. If the Council doesn’t comply, we send out the DVDs and the emails.”

  “What about Phoebe?” Patch asked.

  Nick shrugged. “I don’t know where she is. Lauren said she was out of town, but she couldn’t say where.”

  “Girls,” Patch said, groaning. “I haven’t told Lia anything since you spoke with Parker. I didn’t want to scare her.” He paced around the living room. “God, why can I not call him my father?”

  Genie stood at the door to the kitchen. “Because he’s not, Patch. Your father is the man who raised you. Parker may be your father in a technical sense, but not in the emotional one.”