Chapter 7: The Number She Thought Would End It
Eleanor chose the Montgomery family's private dining room at the Lakeside Club — neutral ground, technically, though every painting on the wall and every waiter who moved through the room had been selected by people who owed the Montgomerys something.
She was already seated when we arrived.
She had brought her attorney after all — a thin man named Prescott who set a leather portfolio on the table and did not stand when I walked in.
Ethan came in behind me.
Eleanor's expression shifted.
Just slightly.
She had not expected him.
"Ethan," she said.
"This doesn't concern you."
"They're my sons," he said.
He pulled out a chair and sat down.
"It concerns me."
Grace sat beside me.
I set my phone on the table, screen down, already recording.
Eleanor looked at the phone.
Then at me.
Then she folded her hands.
"I want to resolve this quietly," she said.
"For the sake of the family."
"Which family?" I said.
"All of us." She opened the portfolio Prescott slid toward her.
"I'm prepared to offer a settlement.
A trust established for each of the three boys — two million dollars each, held until they turn twenty-five.
In exchange, you agree to a private paternity arrangement.
No legal claim to the Montgomery estate.
No public statements.
No further contact with Arthur Whitmore or any challenge to your father's revised will." She looked at Ethan.
"This is generous."
The room was quiet.
"Six million dollars," I said.
"Yes."
"For three boys who are the biological grandchildren of Richard Montgomery.
Whose grandfather's original will entitled them to joint inheritance of this estate and forty percent of the family trust." I looked at the portfolio.
"What is forty percent of the Montgomery trust currently worth, Eleanor?"
Prescott's pen stopped moving.
Eleanor's expression did not change.
"The trust has experienced significant losses in recent—"
"Sixty-two million dollars," Ethan said.
He was looking at his mother.
"I had it independently valued last week.
Sixty-two million, after the losses you've been explaining to me for three years."
Eleanor turned to him slowly.
"You had it valued," she said.
"I did." He leaned forward slightly.
"I also had a forensic accountant review the trust's transaction history for the past seven years.
Would you like to tell me what Prescott's firm has been billing annually for trust management?
Or should I say it out loud in this room?"
Prescott closed his portfolio.
"Ethan." Eleanor's voice had gone very quiet.
"You don't understand what you're doing."
"I understand exactly what I'm doing." He didn't raise his voice.
He had his father's eyes — I had forgotten that.
Richard Montgomery had had the same gray eyes, and the same quality of stillness when he was most serious.
"You forged Dad's signature on a revised will.
You intercepted Vivienne's phone call.
You drove her out of the country while she was pregnant with my children.
And for five years you let me believe she had simply left." He paused.
"What I don't understand is why you thought I would never find out."
"Because you never asked," she said.
The sentence fell into the room like something dropped from a height.
She hadn't meant it as a confession.
But it was one.
Grace's hand moved almost imperceptibly toward her own notepad.
Eleanor seemed to realize what she had said.
Her chin came up.
"My attorney will be in touch with yours.
This meeting is over."
She stood.
Prescott stood.
"Eleanor." I said her name once, the same way I had said Ethan's name in the garden.
Quietly.
Just to make her stop.
She stopped.
"The original will is already filed with the probate court," I said.
"Grace submitted it Friday morning.
The forensic accounting report goes to the Illinois Attorney General's office tomorrow.
And the recording of this conversation—" I picked up my phone from the table— "will go to our attorney's file, where it will be available if the matter proceeds to litigation." I set it back down.
"You can leave.
But this isn't over because you've decided it is."
Eleanor looked at me for a long moment.
Then she looked at Ethan.
"I did everything for this family," she said.
He didn't answer.
She walked out.
Prescott followed, his portfolio tucked under his arm, his eyes on the floor.
May you like
The waiter near the door stepped aside to let them pass.
Neither of them looked back.
