Chapter 7: The Story That Wasn't Mine to Stop
"I'm not going to comment on the emails," I said.
"Do you deny their authenticity?"
"No."
A brief silence on the line.
"Mrs.
Bennett, the emails suggest your son received payments from Raymond Calloway in exchange for information that facilitated the purchase of land with a disputed prior claim.
Are you aware of any other financial arrangements between them?"
"I'm not in a position to speak to that."
"Is it true that you were unaware of the prior claim when you sold the property?"
"Yes.
That is true."
"And the claim belongs to—"
"That's a matter between the relevant parties and their solicitors." I kept my voice even.
"I have nothing further to add."
I ended the call.
Nora was watching me.
"Someone sent those emails to a journalist," I said.
"Who would do that?" Gerald asked.
I thought about the ballroom.
About who had been standing close enough to hear.
About who had the most reason to want Raymond Calloway's name in a newspaper.
"Tiffany," I said.
Gerald frowned.
"His own daughter?"
"She asked him to explain everything.
Last night." I set the phone down.
"She's not stupid.
And she was furious."
Nora sat back in her chair.
"If the story runs, it won't just be about the land."
"No," I said.
"It'll be about Daniel too."
The room was quiet.
"Can you stop it?" Gerald asked.
"I don't know.
And I'm not sure I should try." I looked at my hands on the table.
"I protected Daniel for a long time.
I said yes when I should have said no.
I sold land that wasn't entirely mine to sell because I trusted him." I paused.
"I can't keep protecting him from the consequences of what he chose to do."
"He's going to be very exposed," Gerald said carefully.
"I know."
"Margaret—"
"I know, Gerald." I looked at him.
"He's still my son.
I'm not celebrating this.
But I'm not going to call a journalist and ask her to bury a true story to save him the embarrassment."
Gerald was quiet for a moment.
Then he nodded.
Nora's phone buzzed on the table.
She looked at the screen.
"It's Daniel," she said.
"He's calling me."
We all looked at the phone.
"He must have found your number somehow," I said.
"Should I answer?"
"That's your choice to make.
Not mine."
Nora looked at the phone for another two rings.
Then she picked it up.
"Hello."
A pause.
Daniel's voice, too low for me to make out the words.
"Yes," Nora said.
"I know who you are." Another pause.
"I'm at your mother's house." She glanced at me.
"Yes, she's here."
She held the phone out to me.
I took it.
"Daniel."
"Mom." His voice was rough, like he hadn't slept.
"I need to come over."
"Not yet."
"Mom, please.
There's a journalist — someone sent her the emails — I think it was Tiffany, I think she's trying to—"
"Daniel."
He stopped.
"Whatever Tiffany did or didn't do, those emails are real.
What they describe is real." I kept my voice steady.
"You need a lawyer.
Today.
Before you talk to anyone else, including me."
"Are you going to help me?"
The question landed like a stone.
I thought about the land.
About the trip I had canceled.
About the savings account emptied.
About Robert's handwriting on the front of an envelope, patient and apologetic, waiting six years to reach me.
"I love you," I said.
"But I can't fix this for you."
Silence.
"Get a lawyer," I said again.
"Call me after."
I handed the phone back to Nora and she ended the call.
Outside, a car slowed in front of the house.
Through the kitchen window I could see it — a dark sedan, idling for a moment before it moved on.
"That was Calloway's car," Gerald said quietly.
He had moved to the window without me noticing.
"I recognize the plates.
He drove past twice while you were on the phone."
Nora stood up.
"He's watching the house?" Her voice was sharp.
"Or reminding me he knows where I live," I said.
Gerald turned from the window.
His expression had changed — the patient, careful quality replaced by something older and harder.
"Margaret," he said.
"Robert told me something else before he died.
Something I didn't put in the envelope because I wasn't certain it was relevant." He paused.
"I think it's relevant now."
"Tell me."
"Raymond Calloway and Robert knew each other.
Before you.
Before the land.
Before any of this." Gerald sat back down at the table.
"Robert sold him a parcel in the early nineties.
A smaller piece, separate from Hallow Creek.
It went badly.
There was a dispute.
Robert believed Calloway had misrepresented the terms."
I stared at him.
"Robert never told me that."
"He was ashamed of it.
He felt he'd been outmaneuvered." Gerald looked at me steadily.
"Calloway buying Hallow Creek through your son — I don't think that was just an investment, Margaret.
I think he's been waiting a long time for that land."
May you like
The car came around the block again.
This time it stopped.
