Chapter 5 - Patricia's Secret
Patricia arrived at my apartment on Tuesday wearing pearls.
Of course she did.
If federal agents had escorted her from a burning building, I suspected she would stop to retrieve those pearls.
I opened the door but did not invite her inside.
She looked past me.
“So this is where you're living.”
“Yes.”
“It's small.”
“Good morning, Patricia.”
She frowned.
“May I come in?”
“No.”
That surprised her more than anything else I had done.
She glanced down the hallway.
“We need privacy.”
“You seemed less concerned with privacy at the restaurant.”
Her lips tightened.
“I shouldn't have recorded that.”
It was the closest thing to an apology I had heard from her in twenty-five years.
I waited.
Finally she said, “Richard is in serious trouble.”
“I know.”
“You can help him.”
“No.”
“Margaret.”
“No.”
She stared at me.
“You haven't even heard what I'm asking.”
“You want me to release the lien challenge, cooperate with the sale, or tell investigators the signatures were authorized.”
Her silence confirmed at least one.
“Which?”
“The building sale could solve everything.”
“For Richard.”
“For the family.”
“There it is again.”
“What?”
“That word.”
I folded my arms.
“Family seems to mean Richard whenever you say it.”
Her face changed.
For a second, she looked tired rather than cruel.
“You don't understand what happened.”
“Then explain it.”
She looked toward the apartment again.
This time, I let her inside.
We sat across from each other.
Patricia held her handbag on her knees.
“When my husband died, the company was failing.”
I knew that.
George Bennett had died suddenly seventeen years earlier.
Richard took over.
The family mythology said he saved everything.
Patricia told a different story.
“George left debts. More than anyone knew. Richard found them after the funeral.”
“How much?”
“Almost six million.”
I stared at her.
“He never told me.”
“He was ashamed.”
“No. He was secretive.”
She ignored that.
“Richard refinanced. Sold assets. Worked constantly.”
“And the Cayman account?”
Her fingers tightened around the handbag.
“Richard created offshore reserves because he believed creditors might come after everything.”
“In your name.”
“Yes.”
“How much is there?”
She looked away.
“Patricia.”
“About three million.”
“And you thought this was legal?”
“I didn't ask.”
That was the Bennett family motto in four words.
Don't ask.
Don't challenge.
Don't embarrass Richard.
I stood.
“You need an attorney.”
“I need you to help my son.”
“Your son forged my signature.”
“He was desperate.”
“He tried to sell property he didn't own.”
“He intended to replace the money.”
“With what?”
She had no answer.
Then she said quietly, “Vanessa changed him.”
I almost laughed.
“No.”
“You don't know what she—”
“Stop blaming women for Richard.”
Her mouth opened.
I continued.
“You blamed me when he was unhappy. You're blaming Vanessa because he cheated. You'll blame his secretary when the audit finds something else.”
Patricia stared at me.
“When does Richard become responsible for Richard?”
She stood.
“You always thought you were better than us.”
“No.”
I opened the door.
“I just finally stopped believing I was less.”
She left without another word.
Two hours later, Steven called.
He had retained his own attorney.
He had also resigned from Bennett Commercial's board.
“I should've said something at dinner,” he told me.
“You were shocked.”
“No. Before that.”
I waited.
He exhaled.
“I knew Richard was seeing someone.”
My heart sank.
“How long?”
“Four months.”
“And you said nothing.”
“I told him to end it.”
“That protected your conscience, Steven. Not me.”
“I know.”
His voice broke slightly.
“I know that now.”
I didn't forgive him.
Not then.
But I appreciated that he didn't ask me to.
The forensic audit continued.
Every day brought another piece.
Inflated invoices.
Shell companies.
Personal expenses disguised as consulting costs.
A condo in Naples purchased through a company tied to Patricia's account.
Vanessa had stayed in Columbus and cooperated fully.
She called me once.
“I want you to know I never asked him to leave you.”
“I believe you.”
“He said he was already leaving.”
“I believe that too.”
She hesitated.
“Does that make you hate me less?”
I considered the question.
“I don't know you well enough to hate you.”
She laughed sadly.
“Fair.”
Then she told me something important.
Richard had promised her a future built around Riverside.
A penthouse.
Travel.
Marriage.
He had shown her architectural drawings of a luxury apartment planned for the top floor.
He had even labeled one room Vanessa's studio.
There was one problem.
The entire dream depended on acquiring my property.
I finally understood.
Richard had not decided to divorce me because he had found Vanessa.
He had decided he could afford Vanessa because he planned to take what belonged to me.
That distinction cured something inside me.
For weeks, I had wondered what she possessed that I lacked.
Youth?
Beauty?
Excitement?
The answer was simpler.
She had been sold the same fantasy Richard sold investors.
A future financed with somebody else's money.
Three weeks after our anniversary, Richard appeared outside my apartment.
I almost didn't open the door.
Then I saw his face through the security camera.
He looked exhausted.
No tie.
Unshaven.
Nothing like the man who had toasted the end of our marriage.
I opened the door but left the chain engaged.
“What?”
“I need five minutes.”
“You have one.”
He looked at me.
“Whitaker Capital is forcing a vote.”
“I know.”
“They'll remove me permanently.”
“That isn't my decision.”
“Thomas is doing this because he wants you.”
I stared at him.
Even now.
Even with his company collapsing.
Richard could imagine only possession.
“Thomas isn't doing anything. Your board is reviewing your conduct.”
“He has wanted you for years.”
“And you wanted Vanessa.”
His face tightened.
“That's different.”
I laughed.
Actually laughed.
He hated that.
“I made mistakes.”
“Plural is doing a lot of work there.”
“I can fix this.”
“Then fix it.”
“I need the back parcel.”
There it was.
Not I'm sorry.
Not I hurt you.
Land.
“You can't have it.”
“Margaret, if Riverside fails, hundreds of people could lose jobs.”
“Then why did you divert money?”
“I didn't steal it.”
“What do you call moving company money into accounts your mother controls?”
“Protection.”
“From whom?”
He didn't answer.
I started closing the door.
His hand hit it.
“Wait.”
I froze.
“Take your hand off my door.”
Something in my voice reached him.
He removed it.
Then he whispered, “I'll give you the house.”
I stared.
“Our house?”
“Yes.”
“The house with a $900,000 mortgage you refinanced without telling me?”
His face changed.
Susan had discovered that one yesterday.
I almost admired the timing.
“You know.”
“I know everything eventually, Richard.”
He stepped back.
For the first time, he seemed to understand that the old information imbalance was gone.
“Margaret.”
“Yes?”
“What do you want?”
It was perhaps the first time in our marriage he had sincerely asked.
I thought carefully.
“I want the truth.”
He looked exhausted.
“You couldn't handle it.”
There he was again.
I smiled sadly.
“Try me.”
He looked down the empty hallway.
Then back at me.
“My father didn't leave six million dollars in debt.”
I stopped breathing.
“What?”
Richard's eyes were hollow.
“My mother did.”
May you like
And with that, the story Patricia had told me that morning shattered.
Again.
