Chapter 4 - The Daughter Who Stopped Believing HimSixteen-year-old Sophie Morali knew her father was lying before he finished the sentence.
"I'm handling it."
He said those words about everything.
His meetings.
Their family dinners.
Her grandmother.
Even the divorce.
Especially the divorce.
Sophie stood in the kitchen of their large Rittenhouse Square apartment, wearing a school sweatshirt and holding a half-eaten apple.
"Grandma called me yesterday."
Adrian stopped pouring coffee.
"What did she say?"
"She wanted to know if I was coming over."
"You can visit whenever you want."
"That's funny. Elaine told me Grandma wasn't accepting visitors."
Adrian set down the pot.
"When?"
"Last month. And the month before."
He felt something cold settle in his stomach.
"Why didn't you tell me?"
Sophie stared.
"I did."
He searched his memory.
There had been a conversation while he was leaving for Chicago.
He remembered Sophie mentioning her grandmother.
He remembered saying something about discussing it later.
He had never followed up.
"I'm sorry."
Sophie gave a bitter little laugh.
"Everybody's sorry after Grandma gets humiliated in front of a hundred people."
"Two hundred."
"That makes it worse."
She tossed the apple into the trash.
"Is she losing her memory?"
"We don't know."
"Then why does everyone keep talking about her like she's already gone?"
Adrian had no answer.
Sophie turned toward the door.
"Mom says you're good at fixing buildings because buildings don't ask why you abandoned them."
He flinched.
Her mother, Mara, had once said something similar during their final argument.
Their marriage had not ended because of an affair or a spectacular betrayal.
It had died gradually beneath canceled dinners, missed birthdays, and Adrian's growing inability to be emotionally present.
He had believed he was building security for his family.
Mara had asked him what security was worth if nobody could reach him.
Now Sophie was asking the same question.
"Sophie."
She paused.
"I'm going to see Grandma this afternoon," he said. "Would you come?"
She studied him suspiciously.
"Are you actually going?"
"Yes."
"Or are you sending flowers and calling that a visit?"
"I'm going."
After a moment, she nodded.
At the foundation's downtown headquarters, Elaine Wescott sat across from Celeste Vane.
The building's top floor overlooked the Delaware River.
The wall behind Elaine's desk displayed photographs of charity dinners and civic awards.
One photograph showed Elaine embracing Arthur Carter at a fundraising event in 2012.
Celeste kept glancing at it.
"Adrian's asking questions," she said.
"Naturally."
"He knows about Haven Row."
"Adrian has known about Haven Row for twenty years."
"He knows about the signature."
Elaine placed her pen carefully on the desk.
"Did Helena sign?"
"No."
"Did you recover the draft?"
"Most of it."
"Most?"
Celeste looked away.
"There was a disturbance."
"That much is clear. My phone hasn't stopped ringing."
"I did what you told me."
"I told you to secure a voluntary acknowledgment."
"You told me she'd be frightened enough to cooperate."
Elaine's expression hardened.
"Be careful, Celeste."
The blonde woman swallowed.
Elaine stood and walked toward the window.
"Your father's house is still carrying a loan guaranteed by one of our associated companies, isn't it?"
Celeste went pale.
"That has nothing to do with this."
"Of course not."
Elaine turned.
"I'm merely reminding you that some relationships depend upon discretion."
Celeste gripped the arms of her chair.
"My father is seventy-three."
"And I'm sure you want him comfortable."
The silence stretched.
Finally, Celeste whispered, "What do you want me to do?"
"Nothing dramatic. Leave Helena to the professionals. We need a clean capacity report before the special board session."
"And the maid?"
Elaine's eyes narrowed.
"Find out what Helena gave her."
At Helena's townhouse, Sophie entered the sitting room ahead of her father.
"Grandma?"
Helena's face lit up.
"My beautiful girl."
Sophie dropped to her knees and wrapped her arms around her grandmother.
Adrian watched them.
The old woman who supposedly couldn't recognize familiar people remembered Sophie's birthday, her school play, and the name of her closest friend.
She even remembered a joke about Sophie's disastrous attempt to bake a chocolate cake.
When Adrian mentioned the assessment scheduled for tomorrow, Helena's smile disappeared.
"I don't want Elaine's doctor."
"You don't have to see someone you haven't agreed to see," Adrian said. "We'll talk to your own physician and an attorney."
Helena looked skeptical.
"Will you actually listen to what they say?"
"Yes."
"And if they say I'm old and stubborn?"
Sophie laughed.
"We already know that."
Helena squeezed her hand.
"Then perhaps we're all capable of making an accurate diagnosis."
Adrian smiled.
But the smile faded when Sophie noticed a stack of unopened envelopes beside the window.
"Grandma, why are these still here?"
Helena looked confused for the first time that afternoon.
"What envelopes?"
Sophie picked one up.
It was addressed in Adrian's handwriting.
A birthday card, mailed six weeks earlier.
Still sealed.
Beneath it were three more envelopes.
One from Sophie.
Two from Adrian.
Helena stared at them.
"I was told you stopped writing."
Adrian took the letters.
Each had arrived at the house.
None had been opened.
He turned toward Ruth.
"Who handles my mother's mail?"
The nurse hesitated.
"Foundation staff collect correspondence twice a week. Mrs. Wescott said it was necessary to protect her from financial solicitations."
Helena's eyes filled with tears.
"They told me my son didn't want to hear from me."
Adrian looked at the unopened birthday card.
Then at the woman who had raised him.
May you like
For the first time, he understood that someone hadn't merely been lying about his mother's condition.
Someone had been deliberately breaking their family apart.
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