Chapter 5 - GRANDMOTHER'S LAST CARD|
Beatrice Harrow's home stood on a bluff overlooking the Atlantic.
It was not the largest property in the family's portfolio, but it was the one Camille loved most. White shutters, weathered cedar shingles, a wide porch, and a garden where her grandmother still insisted on growing roses despite the salty wind.
When Camille arrived, Beatrice was waiting in the sitting room.
She wore a navy cardigan and held a cup of tea. Her silver hair was pinned neatly behind her head.
"You look terrible," Beatrice said.
Camille almost laughed.
"My dress was attacked."
"I can see that."
Everett stood near the doorway. Beatrice studied him.
"Mr. Kane."
"Mrs. Harrow."
"I see you still look like a man who hasn't slept properly in years."
"Some things haven't changed."
"Apparently not."
Camille sat beside her grandmother.
"Did you sign the trust document?"
Beatrice's expression hardened.
"No."
"Did you authorize Dad to pledge your shares?"
"Absolutely not."
"Then how did your signature get on it?"
Beatrice set down her tea.
"Because someone stole the original authorization papers from my desk."
Camille felt cold.
"When?"
"Last spring. I noticed the folder was missing, but your father told me he had moved it to the corporate office."
"Why didn't you tell me?"
"I asked him about it. He said it was an administrative mistake."
"And you believed him?"
"I wanted to."
The answer hurt more than Camille expected.
Beatrice reached for her hand.
"Your father was a different man when he started. He loved those hotels. He knew the names of the people who cleaned the lobbies and repaired the boilers. Somewhere along the way, he began loving the title more than the work."
Everett stepped closer.
"Mrs. Harrow, do you have another copy of the trust?"
Beatrice nodded.
"Not here."
"Where?"
"In a safe deposit box."
Camille leaned forward. "Which bank?"
Beatrice gave her the name of a small private bank in Charleston.
"Only I can access it," she added. "And I have a second document there."
"What document?"
"The original voting agreement. It explains exactly who controls the company if I become unable to serve."
Camille's mind raced.
"Who controls it?"
Beatrice looked directly at her.
"You do."
Camille stared.
"Grandma, I never received any shares."
"You received them through a trust. I appointed you successor trustee three years ago."
"Why didn't you tell me?"
"Because I wanted you to choose whether you wanted the responsibility. I didn't want you to spend your life believing you had to inherit my battles."
Camille looked at Everett.
He said nothing.
Beatrice continued.
"Your father was supposed to tell you when the time was right. Instead, he tried to use the trust as a bargaining chip."
Camille's throat tightened.
"How much control do I have?"
"Enough to stop the Briarwoods from taking the hotels."
"Then why hasn't anyone told me?"
"Because someone has been intercepting my mail and making changes to the corporate records."
Everett's expression sharpened.
"Who?"
Beatrice reached into a drawer and removed a sealed envelope.
"I believe I know."
She handed it to Camille.
May you like
On the front, in her grandmother's careful handwriting, were four words:
The person you trust.
