But four-point-six million?
“Alan,” she said, “what money?”
This time his silence lasted too long.
Barbara felt her heartbeat in her throat.
“What money?”
Alan spoke quietly.
“Robert’s.”
Barbara gripped the chair.
“Robert didn’t have four million dollars.”
“Yes,” Alan said.
“He did.”
The truth arrived in pieces.
Robert Mercer had spent thirty-four years working as a mechanical engineer for an industrial equipment manufacturer.
He had never been flashy.
Never owned an expensive watch.
Never cared about cars.
He repaired his own lawn mower and reused coffee cans to store screws.
But during the final twelve years of his career, Robert had developed two process-control components.
His employer patented them.
Under his compensation agreement, Robert received a small percentage of licensing revenue.
Barbara knew there had been royalties.
She believed they had been modest.
Robert had allowed her to believe it.
“He created a separate investment trust,” Alan explained. “The royalties went into it. He reinvested nearly everything.”
Barbara sat perfectly still.
“How much is there now?”
“As of last quarter, a little over eight million dollars.”
Daniel whispered, “Eight million?”
Harper moved closer.
Barbara looked at her.
And suddenly understood why Harper had been so certain Barbara should leave.
This had never been only about a condo.
“Did you know?” Barbara asked.
Harper said nothing.
Daniel turned.
“Did you know?”
Her eyes filled with tears.
“Your dad mentioned something years ago.”
“My father?”
“No. Mine.”
Everyone looked at Richard.
He closed his eyes.
Catherine stepped backward as though struck.
“What did you do?”
Richard pressed his lips together.
Alan’s voice came through the phone.
“Richard Ellis contacted Robert about investing in one of his developments thirteen years ago.”
Barbara remembered.
A dinner.
Richard talking endlessly about a resort project.
Robert listening.
Then saying afterward, “I wouldn’t trust that man with twenty dollars and directions to an ATM.”
Barbara had laughed.
She had forgotten.
Richard had not.
“He knew,” Barbara said.
“Yes,” Alan replied. “Not the exact current value, but he knew Robert had substantial private investments.”
Harper whispered, “Dad thought the trust would eventually go to Daniel.”
Daniel stared at her.
“So you married me for money?”
The pain in his voice was unbearable.
Harper looked horrified.
“No.”
“Then what?”
“At first? No. Daniel, no. I loved you.”
“At first?”
Harper began crying.
“I love you now.”
“That wasn’t the question.”
Barbara watched the marriage fracture in real time.
And despite everything Harper had done, Barbara felt no satisfaction.
Only exhaustion.
Richard spoke.
“We were in trouble.”
Catherine turned on him.
“How much trouble?”
Richard looked toward the floor.
“The Sarasota project failed.”
“You said it was delayed.”
“I was trying to fix it.”
“How much?”
“Six million.”
Catherine staggered.
Harper whispered, “Dad…”
Richard’s face collapsed.
For the first time he looked less like an arrogant man and more like an old one.
“If the lenders call everything, the company is finished. The house is gone. The retirement accounts are gone.”
Catherine stared at him.
“You mortgaged our house?”
He nodded.
Barbara understood then.
The suitcases.
They had not come for a six-day vacation.
“Catherine,” Barbara said quietly, “did you think you were staying here temporarily?”
Catherine slowly shook her head.
Tears filled her eyes.
“Richard told me our house had mold.”
Harper covered her mouth.
Barbara looked at Richard.
“You were moving in.”
Nobody answered.
“You intended to move into my condo while using it as collateral.”
Richard’s voice barely carried.
“Only until things stabilized.”
Barbara laughed once.
It contained no humor.
“You didn’t need me in a hotel for five days.”
She turned to Harper.
“You needed me gone long enough to make me irrelevant.”
Harper cried openly now.
“Barbara, please.”
That word.
Please.
How many times had Barbara said it to keep peace?
Please don’t fight.
