Chapter 4 - THE WOMAN ON THE OTHER END
I had never heard my mother use the name Pacific Meridian.
Maya searched the company registration and found a Delaware entity with an agent address and little else.
Nothing about that was illegal by itself.
But the spreadsheet was alarming because every transfer appeared near one of my father's supposed emergencies.
I called my mother from a hotel phone before Maya could stop me.
Diane answered with a sigh that sounded rehearsed.
Olivia, finally.
Mom, what is Pacific Meridian Holdings?
Silence.
Then she said she didn't know what I was talking about.
I told her I had a spreadsheet.
Her voice became very quiet.
Your father is under enough pressure without you stealing his business documents.
I didn't steal anything.
Who sent them to you?
I refused to answer.
She shifted tactics instantly.
Your father has high blood pressure.
If something happens to him, that's on your conscience.
For years I had responded to that sentence by opening my banking app.
This time I said I hoped he received proper medical care.
Then I asked again about Pacific Meridian.
She hung up.
Two minutes later Martin Keene called.
His voice was warm in a way I had never trusted.
Olivia, we're all upset, but reasonable people can resolve this.
He offered to meet me privately when I returned.
I asked whether he was calling on behalf of the brokerage or my parents.
Both, he said.
That answer told me more than he intended.
Before we disconnected, he mentioned the guarantee.
Your father says you agreed to support the business.
No, I said.
I did not.
Well, documents can be interpreted differently.
Not when the signature is forged.
Martin's breathing changed.
You should be careful about throwing around that word.
I ended the call and emailed Maya an exact account of the conversation.
An hour later, someone slid a card beneath my hotel room door.
It was not printed on hotel stationery.
On one side, a single sentence read: ASK YOUR MOTHER ABOUT THE HOUSE IN PALOS VERDES.
On the other was a date from eleven years earlier.
The day my grandmother died.
I had been twenty-one then, still struggling to understand why a woman who loved me fiercely had left no personal letter.
My parents told me her estate was modest and her affairs simple.
I stood with the card in my hand, suddenly remembering my grandmother pressing a small silver key into my palm during her last hospitalization.
Keep this somewhere your father will never look, she had whispered.
At the time, I had thought she was confused.
May you like
Now I wondered whether she had been afraid.
