Chapter 6: The Price of Loyalty
Warren Fitch was sixty-three, broad-shouldered, with the kind of tan that came from expensive holidays rather than outdoor work.
He walked into the Solmere lobby like a man who expected doors to open for him — and they did, because the two attorneys flanking him moved like they were paid to make that happen.
He stopped when he saw Charlotte.
Not a dramatic stop.
Just a half-second pause, a recalibration, the way a man looks when the room is not arranged the way he expected.
Vivienne crossed to him quickly.
She spoke into his ear.
He listened without looking at her.
Then he walked toward the concierge desk.
"Ms.
Vale," he said.
His voice was the kind of voice that had been trained to sound reasonable.
"I'm Warren Fitch.
I serve on the Solmere board."
"I know who you are," Charlotte said.
"Then you know I have a fiduciary responsibility to this company." He glanced at the documents on the desk.
"I'd like to review what you've presented before we go any further."
Ruth stepped forward.
"And you are?"
"Warren Fitch.
Board member."
"Ms.
Calloway," Ruth said.
"I represent Ms.
Vale.
You're welcome to review the documents.
Your attorneys are welcome to review them.
I'd simply ask that nothing leaves this desk."
Fitch nodded at one of his attorneys, who stepped forward and began reading.
The lobby had not emptied.
If anything, more staff had drifted in from the corridors — a housekeeper standing near the elevator bank, two young men from the restaurant holding their order pads, a woman Charlotte recognized from the accounting office on the fourth floor, standing at the edge of the crowd with her arms crossed and her eyes moving between Charlotte and Vivienne.
Fitch's attorney looked up from the deed.
He said something quietly to Fitch.
Fitch's expression didn't change.
But his hand, resting on the desk, closed into a loose fist.
"These appear to be in order," the attorney said.
"They are in order," Ruth said.
Fitch looked at Vivienne.
Vivienne gave him a small, tight shake of her head.
He turned back to Charlotte.
"Ms.
Vale, I want to be straightforward with you.
The board has been operating under the understanding that the estate was under legal review and that Ms.
Holt held valid interim authority.
If that authority is now in question—"
"It was always in question," Charlotte said.
"You knew that."
Fitch said nothing.
"You joined this board eight months ago," Charlotte said.
"At that point, the deed my mother filed had already been in the county recorder's office for three months.
A basic title search would have shown it.
Did you do a title search before accepting your board position, Mr.
Fitch?"
"Standard due diligence was conducted."
"Then you found it," Charlotte said.
"And you joined the board anyway."
Fitch's attorney put a hand on his arm.
A small gesture.
A warning.
Fitch ignored it.
"Whatever you think you know about my involvement—"
"I don't think," Charlotte said.
"I have four wire transfer records.
Dates, amounts, account numbers.
The shell company is called Meridian Consulting Group.
It was registered in Delaware eleven months ago.
It has no website, no employees, and no clients other than you." She paused.
"Ruth."
Ruth opened the briefcase and placed a single page on the desk.
Fitch looked at it.
His attorney looked at it.
The second attorney, who had been standing slightly behind, leaned forward and looked at it.
Then the second attorney took a step back.
It was a small step.
Barely noticeable.
But Charlotte noticed it.
"I'd like to speak with my client privately," the first attorney said.
"Of course," Ruth said.
Fitch and his two attorneys moved to the far side of the lobby.
Vivienne started to follow.
Fitch turned and looked at her.
"Not you," he said.
Vivienne stopped.
She stood alone in the center of the lobby, in her white silk gown, with the guests watching and the staff watching and Gerald Marsh watching from behind the concierge desk.
Charlotte looked at her.
For a moment — just a moment — Vivienne Holt looked like exactly what she was.
A woman who had built everything she had on a foundation that belonged to someone else, and who was now watching it begin to shift beneath her feet.
Then her chin went up.
"This isn't finished," she said to Charlotte.
"No," Charlotte agreed.
"It isn't."
She looked toward the far side of the lobby, where Fitch and his attorneys were speaking in low, urgent voices.
The second attorney had his phone out.
He wasn't calling Fitch's office.
Charlotte recognized the area code.
He was calling the state attorney general's office.
May you like
She turned back to Vivienne and said nothing.
She didn't need to.
