Chapter 41 - The Consent She Thought I Would Give
Rebecca called before breakfast.
I watched her name appear on my phone.
For years, that name had meant an instruction.
Come downstairs.
Change your clothes.
Stop making that face.
Your father is upset.
Now it meant a woman had tried to finance the purchase of claims against me with money carrying my mother’s trust reference.
I answered.
“Claire, we need to speak privately.”
“We can arrange a meeting with counsel.”
“This isn’t a legal matter.”
“You submitted a financing schedule.”
Silence.
Then a careful breath.
“I was trying to protect the family.”
“Which part?”
“All of us.”
“By buying claims against the terminal?”
“By keeping them out of Adrian Rourke’s hands.”
I sat down.
There it was.
A version of the truth arranged so she could stand in the useful part of it.
“You could have told me.”
“You haven’t exactly made yourself approachable.”
“I’m approachable through my attorney.”
“That’s what I mean.”
Dominic entered the kitchen.
I put the call on speaker.
Rebecca’s voice softened.
“I know you’re angry. But if an outsider buys those interests, none of us will control what happens. I thought we could resolve things within the family.”
“You thought I would release money so you could buy leverage over my property.”
“That is an ugly way to describe it.”
“It’s an accurate one.”
She did not answer.
For a moment, I heard something in the background.
A cupboard opening.
A spoon touching china.
The ordinary sounds of the house where I had spent years believing everyone else belonged.
Then Rebecca said, “I have something that might help you.”
Of course she did.
“What?”
“Original correspondence concerning the reserve account.”
“Send it to Nora.”
“I’d rather explain it.”
“Then explain it to Nora.”
Her voice hardened.
“You don’t have to make every conversation humiliating.”
I looked at Dominic.
He stood beside the counter, waiting.
Not taking over.
Not choosing my answer.
“Then stop arriving with information you think I should earn,” I said.
We arranged the meeting for that afternoon.
Rebecca came alone except for her attorney.
No daughters.
No foundation representative.
No one who could be used as a reason I should lower my voice.
She placed a folder on the table.
Nora reviewed the documents before passing copies to me.
The reserve account was real.
Its reference matched Anne’s trust.
It had been established to hold proceeds from a proposed sale of certain terminal interests.
The sale had not completed in the form originally anticipated.
The money had remained in a restricted account.
Not untouched.
Charges had been deducted.
Transfers had been requested.
Some had been declined.
“How much remains?” I asked.
“The latest statement I have shows four point eight million,” Rebecca said.
I looked up.
For years, my father had told me the company could barely afford my salary.
Rebecca watched the number land.
Then she reached into her folder again.
A consent form.
Already prepared.
“If you authorize the release,” she said, “we could use part of it to acquire the creditor package. You would benefit from removing the threat.”
Nora took the form.
“Who receives the funds?”
“The investment company.”
“Rebecca’s company?”
“Yes.”
“And who controls it?”
Rebecca folded her hands.
“I do.”
I looked at her.
“You came here with the same proposal.”
“I came with a solution.”
“You came with my money and your signature authority.”
Her attorney began explaining a possible structure.
Nora stopped him gently.
“We can examine any legitimate option after the account’s ownership, restrictions, and history are independently established. Our client will not authorize payment to your client’s company today.”
Rebecca stared at me.
“Dominic can buy anything he wants. Why are you making this difficult over money?”
My husband moved his chair closer to the table.
“This is Claire’s decision.”
Rebecca’s eyes flicked toward him.
She had expected him to settle it.
Rich men solved money problems.
Daughters followed.
I put the consent form aside.
“Who told you I would sign?”
She looked down.
“Charles thought you might prefer a private resolution.”
“He thought you could still make me feel selfish.”
Her mouth tightened.
“I kept that household running.”
“With advances charged against my allocation.”
“I raised three children.”
“You’re using them again.”
Rebecca stood abruptly.
Her attorney touched her sleeve.
She remained standing.
“I am their mother.”
“Yes,” I said. “You should have given them a better reason to defend you.”
For one second, she looked wounded enough to make me doubt myself.
Then she gathered the unsigned form.
And I remembered why she had brought it.
After she left, Nora contacted counsel for the institution holding the reserve.
We requested current statements, account-opening records, and confirmation that no instruction bearing my supposed consent should be accepted without independent verification.
By evening, the institution acknowledged the dispute.
The funds would remain where they were while the claims were examined.
I should have felt relieved.
Instead, I kept seeing the account balance.
A number large enough to explain so much.
Not large enough to give me back the years.
Then Madison called.
“Rebecca wants us to come to the house tomorrow.”
“Do you want to?”
“She says there are papers about our futures.”
I closed my eyes.
Another table.
May you like
Another prepared pen.
This time, there would be four daughters reading.
