Chapter 4 - THE SISTER WHO PLANNED THE SALE
Rachel spread corporate records across our kitchen island.
Lauren's company had negotiated with a luxury developer about an option to purchase the Whitmore estate.
The price was much lower than the value of the property under ordinary conditions.
But if the mansion entered foreclosure, the developer could acquire it without the public auction drama Margaret dreaded.
"Charles gets legal fees," Rachel said.
"Lauren gets a consulting payment, and your mother gets to believe somebody rescued the estate."
"What happens to Oakridge?" I asked.
"They want its claim released before the transaction."
I felt sick.
For nine years I had paid to keep that place alive.
They were trying to erase the record of those payments and make me look like a villain for refusing to give more.
Lauren came to my office that afternoon without an appointment.
She wore white linen and a practiced expression of wounded innocence.
"You're blowing this out of proportion," she said.
"Emma's collarbone is fractured."
"Accidents happen."
"Not like that."
She placed a folder on my desk.
"Mother needs money by Tuesday."
"You have a redevelopment company," I said.
Her expression slipped.
"I don't know what you're talking about."
I named the company and its incorporation date.
She looked at the door.
"Who told you?"
"Public records."
Lauren recovered quickly.
"Someone has to be practical about the house."
"You intended to sell it without telling the person financing it."
"You don't own it, Caroline."
I let that sentence settle.
"Then you shouldn't need my signature."
Her face flushed.
"You have always believed money makes you better than everyone else."
"No. I believed it might buy peace. I was wrong."
Lauren leaned forward.
"If you take Mother to court, people will start asking about your business."
I did not interrupt.
"Clients don't like scandals," she continued.
"Especially clients with children."
"Are you threatening my company?"
"I'm warning my sister."
When she left, Rachel called from the conference room where she had watched the lobby camera feed.
"Did she bring the original option agreement?"
"A folder. She didn't open it."
"Ask security not to throw out the visitor sign-in sheet."
That evening a longtime housekeeper from the Whitmore estate contacted me privately.
Her name was Agnes.
She had served the family for thirty-one years.
"Miss Caroline," she whispered, "you need to know what they buried under the rose garden."
I thought she meant some terrible family secret.
She meant boxes of documents.
May you like
And she said Charles had ordered the gardeners to move them that morning.
