Authors: Tom Dolby
The Trust (15 page)
T
hat bastard!”
Nick entered the apartment just as Genie was muttering this epithet in Patch’s general direction. It was seven
A.M
., and Nick and Patch had school that day, but Genie had demanded that Nick rush right down as soon as the necklace arrived.
The Scarab of Isis sat on the kitchen table, on top of its padded envelope. As if it were kryptonite, no one dared touch it.
“Nicholas, what on earth am I supposed to do with this? You take this right back to your grandfather and tell him I don’t want it. No, better yet, I’m going to take it to the police. I’m sure they’ll be very interested in the fact that it’s been in his possession for the past two days!”
“No,” Nick said. “Genie, I don’t think that’s a good idea. I mean, we don’t know what the circumstances were—”
“The circumstances! The circumstances were that he stole it from the museum!”
“Genie, he’s still in the hospital. There’s no way he could have stolen it.” Nick looked to Patch for support, but his friend seemed confused as to what to say.
“Oh, hell, I don’t know what the right thing is to do!” Genie plunked herself down at the kitchen table in exasperation. “He always joked that one day, he would give me the original. That good-for-nothing miscreant! Now I’m stuck with it!” She paused, and a look of sadness crossed her face. “Just like I was stuck with the memories for all those years.”
She looked plaintively at the two boys, and it was as if years were suddenly erased from her face, as if she was becoming a twenty-one-year-old girl again. “One has such mixed feelings, you know, about these things. I loved your grandfather, Nick. Loved him, I think, as I have never loved anyone else since then. My husband was a good man, a sweet man, warm and generous and kind. But he and I never had the same feelings that your grandfather and I had.”
“Why then?” Nick asked. “Why didn’t it work out? You never told us.”
Genie straightened up and composed herself. “Palmer was a member of the Society, as you know. I couldn’t be, as I was a woman, and they didn’t admit women formally until the 1970s. But I didn’t approve of their methods—I still don’t, as you know—and I made that very clear to him. I urged him to defect from the group. I had no idea the hold that they could maintain on a person. We continued planning the wedding, but it remained a sticking point with us.”
Nick’s phone rang, and he quickly silenced it.
“The night of our rehearsal dinner at the Yale Club, Palmer never showed up. I had bought a new dress and was wearing the necklace that he had given me on our engagement: the copy of the Scarab of Isis. My mother thought I looked foolish. I fancied myself as glamorous, as exotic. That was how he liked me to be, even if I really wasn’t. You can imagine how silly I felt when he stood me up.”
“Where did he go?” Patch asked.
“His father packed him on an ocean liner that was headed for Italy. He was going to do his version of the Grand Tour. It was unconscionable, really, what they did. You don’t do that to a young woman.”
“And it was all because you wanted him to leave the Society?”
Genie nodded. “I believe so. That’s the only logical explanation for it. Nick, your grandfather could be a wonderful man, but he only recently developed a backbone. He was a spineless creature back then, in his twenties. He was nothing more than a pawn of his family.” She paused. “You can understand why I am so protective of both of you.”
Nick’s phone rang again, and once again he silenced it.
“I have always blamed the Society for what happened,” Genie said. “I know that perhaps it’s foolish, for me to hold such a petty thing against such a complicated organization. I have no idea what kind of forces were at play. Perhaps I will never know.”
“He loved you,” Nick said. “From this note, I mean—I know it’s bizarre, but he clearly still has feelings for you.”
“Nick, feelings die. You must understand that. They seem so fresh, so eternal, at your age, but at a certain point, one simply stops caring. Palmer’s note is nothing more than a boyish memory. You can’t take that kind of thing seriously. He had a life, with his wife. I was not part of that.”
Nick looked down at his phone, which had a message.
“You should get that,” Patch said. “It looks like your mom is trying to reach you.”
Nick called his mother back. She answered quickly and delivered her news with little emotion.
“Oh my God,” he said. His fingers felt numb as he held the phone.
“What is it?” Patch asked, after Nick hung up.
“It’s my grandfather,” Nick said. “He died this morning, in the hospital.”
“Oh my dear,” Genie said. “I’m so sorry. I feel like such a fool! I shouldn’t have said those things about him. This must be such a shock. Does your family expect you back? We shouldn’t be keeping you here.”
“No, it’s okay,” Nick said quietly. “Could I stay here for a few more minutes?”
“Of course,” Genie said. “Let me get you a cup of coffee.” She busied herself around the kitchen.
Nick needed a refuge from the craziness that was sure to ensue in his family’s apartment. Not only was there the issue of what to do with the necklace, but there would be funeral arrangements and an obituary and condolence cards and more flowers than he could imagine.
The last time he had seen his grandfather, he had asked Nick to solve that riddle, the one that would help him get out of the Society.
Now that Palmer was gone, Nick didn’t know if they had lost their chance. But he knew they still had to try.
More than anything, his grandfather’s last words to him rang through his head: “Nicholas, you have always had everything you need.”
After learning the news of his grandfather’s death, Nick was even less sure what to do about the necklace. As his family name was at stake, Genie had allowed Nick to make the decision about what to do with the stolen necklace. She said she didn’t want any part in it and had given it to him in the padded envelope. By the time Nick headed upstairs to face the chaos in his apartment and finish getting ready for school, his parents had already left for the hospital.
Nick carefully placed the scarab amulet in an empty desk drawer in his room. Several hours earlier, before hearing the news about Palmer, Nick would have brought the necklace to the police and told them the story of how it had arrived, but now that didn’t seem right. Nick didn’t want the story of the necklace overshadowing his grandfather’s death. And Patch didn’t want his grandmother brought into the scandal of the theft. Nick felt an obligation to protect Genie.
Going to school that day was a dose of much-needed reality, time to reflect on the right course of action. Nick didn’t tell anyone about the necklace, not even Phoebe. He needed to think it all through. If he went to the police, they would want the whole story. If he appeared at the museum, they would want an explanation as well. But it wouldn’t be right to keep the necklace, either.
He would have to return it, anonymously.
When Nick arrived home to the apartment that afternoon, he carefully closed and locked his bedroom door. He put the necklace back into a new, heavily padded envelope, closing and sealing it tightly while wearing gloves to avoid fingerprints. He was able to find a return address from a Metropolitan Museum mailing that read “1000 Fifth Avenue,” which he pasted onto the front of the envelope. That evening, he walked outside and placed the envelope in a mailbox right across the street from the museum. He would have taken it directly there, but he didn’t want to risk being caught by a security camera.
By the next afternoon, the news was all over town. The museum revealed that the necklace had been returned by an unidentified party and they were grateful for its swift delivery. His plan had worked.
L
auren hadn’t wanted to attend Palmer Bell’s memorial service, but she did it for Nick and Phoebe. If Alejandro’s funeral had been like a carnival, then Palmer’s, at St. Thomas, also on Fifth Avenue, was an austere, black-clad mass. Lauren had taken Phoebe to Saks the day before in order to find something appropriately respectful and colorless. Phoebe was sitting in the first row with Nick and his family, including his two brothers, while Lauren sat behind them with Patch, Thad, and the other Society members. Lauren knew her friends understood the hypocrisy of honoring a man who was responsible for so much damage. But no one wanted to cause trouble, particularly since it might jeopardize the chances of the five of them getting out of the Society.
The service was completely impersonal, a series of hymns and readings about service and justice and truth. Lauren was glad that, unlike Alejandro’s, it was relatively short, less than forty-five minutes. Afterward, Lauren joined Phoebe, who was standing with Genie and Patch outside the church.
Phoebe gave Genie a hug on the icy sidewalk. “I’m so sorry,” she said.
Genie swatted her away with a folded program. “Oh, don’t you be sorry, dear. I still curse that man’s name for everything he was responsible for. I’m only here because it’s the right thing to do.”
Patch merely shrugged at the girls, and there was an awkward pause.
“Well, I need to go downtown, actually,” Lauren said. “I figured that I might as well take the rest of the day off, since they’re not expecting us back at school. I have to stop by Giroux. Phoebe, do you want to come with me?”
Phoebe shook her head. “I think I’d better stay with Nick, you know, make sure he’s okay.”
“Of course,” Lauren said. “I understand.”
Lauren parted ways with the rest of the group and took the subway downtown. When she arrived at Giroux, she headed to Sebastian’s office. She had sent over a portfolio earlier of her new designs for the Colette store in Paris, and she was eager to hear what he thought.
He was in his office. Lauren knocked on the door and then popped her head in.
“Lauren! Come, sit!”
Lauren sat down on one of the two Eames chairs in his office. Sebastian had given her this new opportunity that she needed, and yet she wondered if she really deserved it. She was encouraged by the fact that her designs were selling, both nationally and in Europe. Was that proof enough that she had talent?
“I’m curious to know what you think about the Colette line,” she said. “I decided to go in an Egyptian direction this time, as I was inspired by the Dendur Ball. But these are reinterpretations, more like the pieces that became popular in the 1920s and beyond.”
Sebastian flipped through Lauren’s black portfolio. “These are beautiful. I think we’re all set with this. Colette will love these.”
“I hope so,” Lauren said. “Will you let me know what they say?”
“I’ll do even better. I want you to come to Paris next month, for a week during spring break, to view the unveiling of their new collection. It will be
huge
to have the actual designer in their midst.”
“Really?” Lauren asked. “To Paris?”
“Absolutely,” Sebastian said. “I want to introduce you to some other European buyers, and I’d like you to accompany me on visits to several ateliers. I probably shouldn’t mention this, but a few designers have also expressed interest in using your pieces as accessories in their upcoming runway shows.”
“Oh my God—can you say who?”
“I’d rather not. I don’t want to get your hopes up. But I can assure you that if any one of them picked your line, you’d be extremely pleased.”
Lauren blushed. “Thank you. I don’t know what to—this is just so exciting!”
“Well, you deserve it.” Sebastian leaned forward. “There’s something else I wanted to mention to you. That little incident that we had last month?”
“Oh, please, I’d rather not think about that,” Lauren said, groaning. He was referring to the awful episode with the stolen earrings.
“We’ve learned who was responsible for it,” Sebastian said. “One of the security guards, not Danny, but the other one that week, a temp from the agency, was paid off to place the earrings in your bag. I don’t know who arranged it, but I’m glad that it was cleared up. Of course, I never believed that you had done it.”
“Thank you,” Lauren said. “I appreciate that.” She wasn’t really sure what to say, as she felt such mixed emotions. Clearly, the Society had been responsible, but did Sebastian not know that? Were all these orders coming from a higher place? Maybe she had achieved the connection with Sebastian on her own merits, and his affiliation with the Society was purely coincidental. In that case, perhaps she could still work for Sebastian and not be a member of the Society, if the five of them could manage to get out. But was that right? She wanted to go to Paris, to have that opportunity, to be mentored by famous designers, to meet people in the fashion industry. But what were the strings that were attached to it all? What price would she have to pay?
T
he next day, the Bell family was called together for a reading of Palmer Bell’s will. Nick’s father had assisted in its preparation, so most of it was perfunctory, but it was a formality that Palmer’s last wishes be read to the group of interested parties.
The Bell family’s lawyers were in a landmarked midtown office building with a beautiful WPA-era mural in its lobby. It was the type of space that, to Nick, spoke of tradition and legacy, of one’s place in the history of the city. The meeting had been set for ten
A.M.
, and he had arrived separately from the rest of his family. As Nick was about to enter the elevator bank, he was surprised to see Patch talking to a security guard. His friend was given a badge and he started walking toward Nick.
“Patch? What are you doing here?” Nick called.
Patch caught up to him, slightly out of breath. “I’m not really sure. I got a call yesterday that I was supposed to attend a meeting at your father’s lawyer’s offices.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I thought you knew about it already.”
Nick looked at his watch. “We’d better be getting up there. They’re going to be starting soon.”
In preparation for the meeting, Nick had slicked back his dark hair and was wearing a suit, Italian loafers, and a wool winter coat. He examined Patch’s outfit: khakis, a button-down, Converse sneakers, and a huge parka.
“You look nice,” Patch said. “I sort of wish I had dressed up a little more.”
“Don’t worry about it,” Nick said. “It’s a lawyer’s office. They work for us, remember? But who called you about this, anyway?”
The elevator was nearing the twenty-first floor.
“I didn’t catch her name. Someone’s assistant, I think. She just said it was important and it had to do with your family.”
Nick didn’t have time to think about what it meant as they were ushered in, though he sensed that something important, maybe even life-changing, was about to be revealed. He sat down at the large polished conference table with the rest of his family, while Patch took a seat along the far wall of the room.
Nick was sitting next to his two brothers, Henry and Benjamin, and directly across from his mother and father. Farther down the table was Nick’s uncle, Philip, and his wife, Eleanor, who had left the Upper East Side for the suburbs of Westchester; their children, Maggie, twelve, and Caroline, ten, were presumably at school. Philip and Eleanor had distanced themselves from the family in recent years, and Nick hadn’t seen them at any of the Society functions. He wasn’t sure if they were members or not.
Nick had noticed his father flinch when Patch entered the room and his mother whisper something to his father.
Oh, God,
Nick thought,
here it comes
.
Aldon Story, the Bell family lawyer, started by reading through what seemed like an interminable list of assets. There were all of Palmer’s investments, including businesses and real estate that Nick had never even known about.
Finally, they got to the financial assets. Parker Bell was stoic, but Nick could see Henry and Benjamin shifting in their seats. Nick’s mother, Gigi, kept wetting her lips. Eleanor whispered something to Philip.
Sharks circling around a bleeding carcass, Nick thought. They had all known this day would come; some of them might have already been aware of their inheritance. And yet still, there was a finality in having it all read aloud.
Parker and Georgiana Bell would be receiving a significant amount, as would Philip and Eleanor, well over a quarter of a billion dollars. Then the lawyer began to read off the list of grandchildren: Maggie, Caroline, Nick, Ben, and Henry.
Each of them would be the beneficiary of a trust valued at thirty million dollars. For the three boys, the trustee, until they reached the age of twenty-five, would be their father, Parker Bell. From what Nick understood about trusts, this meant that his father could give each beneficiary access to each trust at his discretion.
As expected, the remainder of Palmer Bell’s estate would go to the Bradford Trust, to be used for whatever endeavors, charitable and otherwise, that it saw fit.
Nick’s shoulders relaxed and then tightened again. It was good news—wonderful news, actually—that the trust was so generous, but it wasn’t exactly good news that his father would remain the trustee for so long.
Mr. Story cleared his throat. “There is one more beneficiary in Mr. Bell’s will.”
Everyone looked around in confusion. Was there someone who had been missed? A long lost cousin whom Palmer had decided to include?
“I believe he is here today,” Mr. Story said. “The last beneficiary is Patchfield Evans the third, Palmer Bell’s grandson.”
Nick sat back in his seat, simultaneously stunned and fascinated at this development. This confirmed what he had known. Confirmed the truth he had been hiding from his friend for the past two months, the truth Nick had tried to ignore.
This would change everything.
Did his father know Patch was to be a part of the will? Would Patch himself have any clue about what this meant?
Nick looked over to Patch, who was still sitting at the edge of the room, awestruck.
Nick’s brothers were even more perplexed.
“What—Mr. Story, what does this mean?” Henry asked. “How is Patch related—”
“Henry, settle down!” Parker Bell said.
The lawyer spoke. “I believe it will all become clear soon,” he said. “As for each of your trusts, you should contact our office individually to make arrangements regarding its disbursement. There are certain parameters that have been put in place, which your specific trustee—in each case, the father in each family—can change at any time. We will discuss how that works individually with each one of you.”
“But what about . . .” Ben asked, his voice trailing off.
“Ben, Henry, Nick, I’ll discuss it with you at home,” Parker said.
Patch looked as if he might be ill. He made a motion to Nick that they should leave, and Nick nodded to him, getting up. Nick had no idea how he was going to explain the little that he knew.
“Nicholas, where are you going? We’re not finished yet!” Parker Bell said.
“I think we’re finished, Dad. I’ll see you back at home.”
Nick pushed open the door to the conference room, and Patch followed him.
Once they were out on the sidewalk, the chilly air was like a wake-up call.
“What just happened there?” Patch said.
“Well, you’re thirty million dollars richer,” Nick said, laughing.
“Wow, um, okay—it may take me a few days to process this. And what’s this about your father being the trustee?”
“That’s just the way trusts work. Until we turn twenty-five. They don’t want you to blow the whole thing.”
“But more importantly,” Patch said, “why? What did I do to deserve this? Your grandfather never really cared for me, as far as I could tell. I don’t even know if your father likes me. The lawyer said I was a grandchild of Palmer’s. How could that be the case?”
Nick thought back to everything he knew. He decided to speak carefully.
“Is it possible,” Nick said, “that your father, Patch, Jr., wasn’t really your father?”
“Then who was my father?”
Nick paused before answering. “My dad?”
The two of them stood in stunned silence on the sidewalk as people passed them, cars honked, everyone went about their daily life on a mid-morning in February.
“So that makes us . . . brothers?” Nick asked.
“Half brothers, to be precise,” Patch said. “So my mother and your father—our father—had a—I don’t know, an affair of some kind?” Patch seemed truly confounded by the news.
Nick stood there with Patch for a moment, in amazement that this moment had finally come. He wiped away a tear from his eye and then put one arm around Patch, squeezing him tightly.
“Come on,” Nick said. “Let’s get out of the cold.”