Part 5 — After
I sat in my apartment with coffee and waited.
The first call came at 2:41 PM.
It was my mother.
I let it go to voicemail.
The second call at 2:52 was from a number I didn’t recognize.
I let it go.
The third call, at 3:15, was from Sienna.
I answered.
She was not crying. She was the specific kind of quiet that comes after something large has happened and the person is still calculating.
She said: you knew.
I said: yes.
She said: how long.
I said: six months.
She said: you waited.
I said: yes.
She said: why didn’t you tell me sooner.
I said: because you took my fiancé and my company shares and my seat at every table and when I tried to tell you things you referred to my emotions getting in the way.
She said: Eleanor.
I said: yes.
She said: I didn’t know about Brooke.
I said: I believe you.
She said: do you?
I said: yes. Arthur is very good at what he does. He almost fooled me too.
She said: what happens now.
I said: Brooke’s attorney has been in contact with the relevant authorities about the bigamy. The financial documentation has been provided to the state securities commission and the company’s external auditors. Arthur’s attorneys are going to have a very busy month.
She said: the company.
I said: the shares my father transferred using forged documents are still legally mine. Patricia Webb is handling the recovery of those shares. It will take time but the documentation is clear.
She said: Dad forged your signature.
I said: yes.
She said: I didn’t know that either.
I said: I know you didn’t.
She said: Eleanor.
I said: yes.
She said: I’m sorry.
I sat with that for a moment.
I said: I know.
I said: I’m not ready to say it’s okay. Because it’s not. Not yet.
She said: yes.
I said: but I heard you say it.
She said: yes.
She said: Eleanor. The box.
I said: yes.
She said: you could have just called me.
I said: you didn’t answer my calls for eight months.
She was quiet.
She said: yes.
She said: you’re right.
She said: I’m going to fix that.
I said: I hope so.
I finished my coffee.
Outside the window it was a Saturday afternoon in the specific ordinary way of Saturday afternoons when something significant has just resolved elsewhere and you are sitting in your own apartment.
Brooke texted at four.
She said: my attorney says we’re in good shape. How are you?
I said: better.
She said: coffee sometime when this settles?
I said: yes. Absolutely.
Some forensic accountants spend six months building files.
Some black boxes contain marriage certificates and flash drives and handwritten notes.
Some women in Seattle have been waiting for the other shoe to drop for eight years.
And some Saturday afternoons you sit with your coffee and wait for the delivery notification and then you close your laptop.
He underestimated both of you.
He underestimated you significantly.
The file was thorough.
Patricia is handling the shares.
Brooke’s attorney says you’re in good shape.
Finish your coffee.
The rest will follow.
See more on the next page
