Chapter 34 - The Sins of the Fathers
We returned to the estate as dusk gathered, painting the sky in bruises of purple and slate gray. Arthur walked with me to the front porch, his face grim. He offered to stay the night, but I refused. This was a reckoning between ghosts, and I would face them alone in the house they had built.
I entered the grand foyer. The grandfather clock stood silent, its pendulum still jammed from the break-in. In the silence, the portraits of the Vance patriarchs lining the stairwell seemed to glare down at me with hollow, accusatory eyes. For sixty years, I had walked past those oil paintings believing I was the matriarch of a pristine dynasty. Now I saw them for what they were: polished masks covering arson, theft, and guilt.
I went into the kitchen, made a pot of strong black tea, and carried a cup into the parlor. I took the seat opposite the grand hearth, placing the adoption affidavit and Donald Mercer's scorched letter on the coffee table.
Around eight o'clock, headlights swept across the high leaded-glass windows. Tires crunched over the gravel of the driveway. A car door slammed with reckless force.
A key rattled in the front lock.
The door swung open, and Richard walked in.
He looked haggard, his designer suit rumpled, his face pale and sunken. He had spent the day at the precinct bailing Tyler out of his immediate holding cell, or perhaps attempting to negotiate with the district attorney over the fraud charges.
"Mother," Richard called out, stepping into the hall. He saw the light spilling from the parlor and hurried in, loosening his silk tie. "Thank God you're still awake. We have a catastrophic situation. The judge set bail for Tyler at half a million dollars. He’s facing felony wire fraud, grand larceny, and conspiracy. The media has picked up the story of the ballroom gala. If we don’t liquidate the eastern parcel of the timberlands by tomorrow morning, Tyler will be transferred to the state penitentiary!"
He stopped mid-sentence when he saw my face. He had expected panic, tears, or at least the trembling anger of an old woman whose legacy had been dragged through the mud. Instead, he found me sitting perfectly still, looking at him as though he were a stranger who had wandered into the wrong house.
"Mother? Did you hear me?" Richard asked, his voice wavering. "Tyler is facing twenty years. We have to use the ridge as collateral."
"Sit down, Donald," I said quietly.
Richard froze. The air left his lungs in a sudden, sharp gasp. His eyes twitched, moving from my face down to the documents sitting on the cherrywood table.
"What... what did you just call me?" he stammered.
May you like
"Sit down," I repeated, louder this time. "Before your knees give out."
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