Chapter 7 - DONNA’S PART
I called Donna the next morning.
She answered on the first ring.
“Eleanor.”
“We need to talk.”
“I agree.”
“Alone.”
Pause.
“Brandon won’t like that.”
“I’m not asking Brandon.”
She sighed.
“Where?”
“Ashford Café.”
“Eleven?”
“Ten.”
She arrived twelve minutes late.
Donna always arrived late.
It was one of the small ways she made other people wait for her.
Today, I did not.
I had already ordered coffee.
She sat across from me wearing a camel coat and dark glasses.
“You look tired,” she said.
“So do you.”
She removed the glasses.
Her eyes were swollen.
“Brandon hasn’t slept.”
“I slept surprisingly well.”
That was a lie.
But she did not need the truth.
She folded her gloves.
“I want to apologize for Christmas.”
“For what?”
“The chair.”
“Only the chair?”
Her mouth tightened.
“I didn’t know what Brandon was planning.”
“What did you know?”
“That he wanted to talk to you about the house.”
“What else?”
“He said you were becoming difficult.”
I almost smiled.
“Difficult.”
“He said you were refusing reasonable planning.”
“Did he tell you he forged my signature?”
“He says he didn’t.”
“Did he tell you he contacted a doctor?”
Donna looked down.
There.
That reaction.
“You knew.”
“I knew he was worried.”
“About my memory?”
“Yes.”
“Were you worried?”
She hesitated.
“No.”
“Then why support it?”
“Because he is my son.”
I leaned back.
“That sentence has excused a remarkable amount of behavior.”
She stiffened.
“You would do anything for Claire.”
“No.”
That surprised her.
“I would do anything good for Claire.”
I leaned forward.
“There is a difference.”
Donna said nothing.
“Why were you invited as guest of honor?”
Her eyes flickered.
“I’m his mother.”
“You have been his mother every Christmas.”
“Maybe he wanted to do something nice.”
“He gave you my chair.”
Her face reddened.
“I didn’t ask for it.”
“Did you know I would be told not to sit there?”
Silence.
“Donna.”
“Yes.”
The café noise seemed to disappear.
“When did he tell you?”
“Christmas morning.”
“What exactly did he say?”
She looked ashamed now.
“He said he wanted to establish a new tradition.”
I almost laughed.
“What tradition?”
“That Claire and he needed to start taking more responsibility.”
“In my house.”
“He said eventually it would be theirs.”
My coffee turned bitter in my mouth.
“And you believed that?”
“I assumed you planned to leave it to Claire.”
“I probably did.”
“Then—”
“Eventually.”
I cut her off.
“After I die.”
She looked away.
“Not while I’m eating prime rib.”
Donna swallowed.
“He said you needed to start letting go.”
There it was.
Not a chair.
A rehearsal.
A demonstration of authority.
If I accepted losing my place publicly, perhaps signing paperwork privately would seem like the next reasonable surrender.
I asked the question that mattered.
“Why that night?”
Donna rubbed one thumb against her glove.
“He said you had become resistant.”
“To what?”
“Planning.”
“What else?”
“He said Claire was too emotional to persuade you.”
I felt anger rising.
“So he wanted you there.”
“He thought you respected me.”
I laughed.
She flinched.
“I was told the conversation would happen after dinner.”
“With the notary the next day.”
Her eyes widened.
“What notary?”
That part was new to her.
I believed that.
“Brandon scheduled one.”
Donna’s face lost color.
“I didn’t know.”
“The paperwork included transferring ownership.”
“I didn’t know.”
“My signature had already been copied onto authorization forms.”
“I swear I did not know that.”
I watched her.
“Did you know he had business problems?”
She looked down.
“How much do you know?”
“Enough.”
She exhaled.
“He asked me for money.”
“When?”
“August.”
“How much?”
“Fifty thousand.”
“Did you give it?”
“Yes.”
I stared at her.
“You gave him fifty thousand dollars?”
“He said it was temporary.”
“Did he repay you?”
“No.”
“Does he owe you anything else?”
Her lips tightened.
“I co-signed something.”
Of course.
“How much?”
“I don’t know.”
“Donna.”
“One hundred and twenty-five thousand.”
I sat back.
She looked humiliated.
“He said the project was guaranteed.”
“No project is guaranteed.”
“I know that now.”
“Does he?”
Her eyes filled.
“He is my son.”
“And he is drowning.”
She closed her eyes.
I continued more gently.
“Donna, drowning people sometimes pull everyone close to them underwater.”
She looked at me.
“You think he would destroy Claire?”
“I think he has already lied to her.”
“That’s not the same.”
“He emptied their savings.”
Her mouth opened.
“He pledged the children’s accounts.”
Donna went white.
“He what?”
“He told you things were fine?”
“Yes.”
“He told Claire things were fine.”
She stared toward the café window.
For perhaps the first time, Donna and I were not competing.
We were two mothers realizing the same man had been telling each of us whatever would keep us useful.
“Why did you dislike me?” I asked.
She blinked.
“What?”
“For years.”
“I never disliked you.”
“Donna.”
She gave a tired laugh.
“You made me feel unnecessary.”
I stared at her.
“How?”
“Claire calls you first.”
“That’s because she’s my daughter.”
“The children adore your house.”
“They grew up visiting it.”
“Brandon compared everything.”
I understood then.
“You thought I was competing with you.”
“Yes.”
“I wasn’t.”
“I know.”
She looked embarrassed.
“Not now.”
I thought of the red fingernails wrapped around my wineglass.
The little smile.
“You enjoyed my embarrassment.”
Tears filled her eyes.
“For about ten seconds.”
“At least you’re honest.”
“I thought you always had everything.”
I laughed softly.
“My husband died.”
Her face fell.
“I know.”
“No.”
I shook my head.
“You knew the fact.”
I looked toward the snow outside.
“You didn’t know what it felt like waking up in a house built for two and hearing nothing.”
She lowered her head.
“I’m sorry.”
I believed she meant it.
But apology did not erase choice.
“Will you tell me what Brandon is planning for January second?”
She froze.
I saw it immediately.
“You know.”
“I know something.”
“What?”
“He asked whether he could use my condo as additional security.”
My pulse quickened.
“When?”
“Yesterday.”
“And?”
“I said no.”
“Why?”
“Because I finally asked him to show me the books.”
“Did he?”
“No.”
“Then?”
“He got angry.”
“How angry?”
“He said if I didn’t support him, he would remember it when I needed help.”
I stared at her.
Donna’s voice shook.
“He said I had already benefited from everything he built.”
“Have you?”
“No.”
She almost laughed.
“I gave him money.”
I reached across the table.
Not to comfort her.
To steady the conversation.
“Donna, who is the lender?”
She gave me a name.
Hartwell Capital Partners.
I had never heard of them.
“What exactly does January second mean?”
“He said if he cannot demonstrate additional collateral by noon, Hartwell takes control of his current projects.”
“That sounds like default.”
“Yes.”
“And he loses the company?”
“Possibly.”
“What happens to Claire?”
“I don’t know.”
“What happens to you?”
She looked afraid.
“I don’t know that either.”
I sat back.
The unknown number had told me to ask why Donna came to Christmas.
Now I knew.
She had been part of the pressure.
But maybe not all of the plan.
When I returned home, Claire was sitting in the kitchen with Rachel.
The table was covered with financial records.
Claire looked up.
“You were right.”
“About what?”
“Dad.”
She held up a stack of papers.
“Brandon has been borrowing to repay borrowing.”
A familiar phrase came to mind.
Debt as leverage.
“What did you find?”
Rachel answered.
“Whitaker Residential has been rolling short-term obligations into new financing.”
“How bad?”
“Potentially very bad.”
“Illegal?”
“Not necessarily.”
“Dishonest?”
Claire gave a bitter laugh.
“Yes.”
Rachel pointed toward one page.
“Claire’s signature appears on three guarantees.”
Claire shook her head.
“I signed one.”
“Which means we need forensic review.”
My phone buzzed.
Unknown number.
This time, the message was different.
You met Donna.
I stared at it.
Someone was watching.
Another message:
She told you about Hartwell.
Rachel immediately told me not to respond.
Then the final message appeared.
Hartwell isn’t Brandon’s biggest problem.
A photograph followed.
It showed a contract.
At the top:
PURCHASE OPTION AGREEMENT.
At the bottom:
PROPERTY PACKAGE – BENNETT RESIDENCE AND ADJACENT LOTS.
The purchase price was $1.46 million.
Claire gasped.
I zoomed in.
Brandon’s signature was on the agreement.
The date was six months earlier.
He had signed a contract promising a developer the right to purchase a property package that included land he did not own.
Including my house.
And the option expired January third.
May you like
Suddenly January second was not just a lender deadline.
It was the day Brandon had promised to deliver something that had never belonged to him.
