Chapter 9: The Last Thing Nathan Said
Nathan requested a second meeting through Prescott the following afternoon.
This time he didn't ask for privacy.
He asked for one hour, with attorneys present, at a neutral location.
Claire recommended a conference room at her firm's Century City office.
My father agreed.
I agreed.
Nathan arrived seven minutes late, which I recognized as deliberate.
He had always believed that making people wait established dominance.
He walked in with Prescott and a second attorney I didn't recognize — younger, sharper-looking, the kind of lawyer you bring when you've decided to fight rather than settle.
He looked at me across the conference table and I looked back at him and neither of us said anything for a moment.
He looked tired.
Not the tired of one bad night.
The tired of a man who has spent several days discovering the precise dimensions of the hole he is standing in.
"Thank you for coming," he said.
"You asked for the meeting," I said.
"Say what you came to say."
The younger attorney opened a folder.
"Our position is that the Meridian documentation included in the counter-proposal was attached in error and does not represent—"
"We've already filed the subpoena," Claire said.
"The documentation is part of the public record of the inquiry.
Its origin is no longer relevant."
The younger attorney looked at Prescott.
Prescott looked at the table.
Nathan held up one hand.
"Let me speak."
The attorneys went quiet.
He looked at me directly.
"The Meridian trust was my mother's idea.
I want you to know that.
I'm not saying it to protect myself — the records will show what they show.
I'm saying it because you deserve to know the truth about how it started." He paused.
"She came to me three years ago and told me she had found a structure that would generate passive income for the family without affecting the firm's reported performance.
She said her financial advisor had used it before.
She said it was legal." A pause.
"I should have had it reviewed independently.
I didn't.
That's on me."
"Nathan," Prescott said quietly.
"I'm speaking," Nathan said.
He kept his eyes on me.
"I know what's in those recordings.
I know what exhibit J shows.
I know that Gerald has already retained separate counsel and is almost certainly cooperating with your father's inquiry to reduce his own exposure." He exhaled.
"I'm not here to fight the divorce.
I'm not here to fight the settlement.
I'm here because there's one thing I need to say to you that has nothing to do with attorneys or exhibits or subpoenas."
I waited.
"I did love you," he said.
"In the beginning.
Before I convinced myself that what I needed was more important than what I had." He looked at his hands.
"I don't expect you to believe that.
I don't expect it to change anything.
But I needed to say it once in a room where it was true."
The conference room was very quiet.
"The crop," I said.
"Twenty times.
While she watched."
He flinched.
It was small, but it was real.
"There is no explanation for that," he said.
"There's no version of that I can justify.
I know that."
"Your mother," I said.
"Did she know what you were doing to me?"
A pause.
"She knew we were unhappy," he said.
"That's not what I asked."
Another pause.
Longer.
"She knew things had become difficult," he said.
"She didn't ask for details."
"She didn't ask for details," I said, "because she didn't want them.
Because if she had them, she would have had to do something with them.
And she preferred not to."
Nathan said nothing.
"I want you to tell her," I said, "that I know.
Not through an attorney.
Not through a letter.
I want you to tell her yourself, in person, that I know she knew, and that I chose not to pursue her criminally for the Meridian matter in exchange for her full cooperation with the inquiry.
I want her to understand that the choice was mine.
Not my father's.
Mine."
Nathan looked at me for a long moment.
"Why?" he said.
"Because she's going to spend the rest of her life knowing that the woman she treated like a Savannah nobody was the one who decided her fate," I said.
"And I want her to know that I made that decision clearly and without anger.
I want her to understand exactly who she underestimated."
Nathan was quiet for a very long time.
Then he said: "I'll tell her."
He stood.
His younger attorney looked uncertain.
Prescott looked like a man who had already made his peace with the outcome.
At the door, Nathan stopped.
He didn't turn around.
"The girl from Savannah," he said.
"I should have asked more questions about her."
He walked out.
Prescott gathered his files and followed.
The younger attorney hesitated, then followed too.
Claire looked at me.
"That went better than I expected."
"He's cooperating," I said.
"He made the calculation.
Full cooperation reduces his exposure on the Meridian matter and positions him better for the fraud inquiry." I looked at the door he had walked through.
"He's still Nathan.
He's just out of moves."
"The settlement terms?"
"Send them tonight," I said.
"Standard timeline.
I don't want this to drag."
She nodded and started writing.
My father, who had sat silently through the entire meeting, leaned toward me.
"The part about your mother-in-law," he said quietly.
"That wasn't in any of our planning."
"No," I said.
May you like
"It was exactly right," he said.
I picked up my water glass and drank from it and didn't say anything else, because some things don't need a response.
