Chapter 14 - THE PRICE OF BEING THE HEIR|
Julian spent the next morning reviewing every major decision he had made since taking control of the Cross organization.
He discovered that several senior executives had been reporting to an unnamed adviser through a chain of companies that appeared unrelated to the family. The adviser had no formal title, no public office, and no direct authority in the business records.
But the adviser had influence over financial decisions, security assignments, and access to private accounts.
The payments were routed through the Evelyn Cross Foundation, then through Northstar Protective Services, and finally into a network of holding companies connected to Black Veil.
Arthur Bell had handled many of the transactions.
Richard Cross appeared to have designed the system.
But the identity of the person currently directing it remained uncertain.
Julian's attorney warned him that attempting to seize the accounts could compromise the investigation. The authorities needed time to verify the records, trace the transfers, and determine whether the financial arrangements involved criminal conduct.
Julian agreed to suspend discretionary transfers from the affected accounts and provide the investigators with the relevant documents. It was a significant risk. Some of his business partners would interpret the decision as weakness, and several rival organizations might try to exploit the uncertainty.
"Let them," Julian said.
His attorney looked surprised.
"You understand what could happen?"
"Yes."
"You could lose control of several companies."
Julian glanced toward me.
"I'd rather lose a company than keep it through a lie."
I wasn't ready to admire him for saying it. He had spent years benefiting from a system he had not questioned deeply enough. But I recognized that this was the first time he had willingly accepted a consequence rather than trying to control the outcome.
Margaret also began cooperating with the investigation. She surrendered her foundation records, disclosed the people who had held access to her office, and agreed to answer questions about the emergency trustee designation.
She did not ask me to forgive her.
That made it easier to speak with her.
One afternoon, she came to my mother's apartment carrying a box of photographs.
"I thought your mother might want these," she said.
My mother opened the box and began sorting through the pictures. Most showed family events from years earlier. Some included my father at company dinners. Others showed Margaret as a young woman standing beside Julian's parents.
Then she found a photograph of herself and Richard Cross outside a seaside restaurant.
She stared at it for a long time.
"I remember this day," she whispered. "Richard told me he was leaving the family business. He said he was tired of living under Victor's rules."
"Did you know where he went?" I asked.
"No. But he gave me a phone number and told me to call if I ever needed help."
Margaret looked at the back of the photograph.
A number had been written in faded ink.
The area code belonged to Vermont.
The investigators were informed. They traced the number to a prepaid phone that had been inactive for years, but the associated records pointed to a small storage business near the old hunting lodge.
Julian wanted to go there immediately.
Instead, he asked the investigators to coordinate the next steps.
I noticed the difference.
The old Julian would have treated the discovery as a challenge to his authority. The man sitting beside me now understood that the truth was not his possession.
That night, he found me on the terrace overlooking the garden.
"I need to tell you something," he said.
I kept my eyes on the city.
"Then tell me."
"When you first came to the mansion, I suspected Margaret had sent you for a reason. I could have dismissed you. I could have demanded that she explain herself. Instead, I kept you there because I wanted to see what you would do."
I turned toward him.
"Why?"
"Because you were kind to me when you believed I had nothing to offer you. I wanted to know whether it was genuine."
"You could have asked me."
"I know."
He looked ashamed.
"I was so afraid of being betrayed that I turned everyone around me into a test. I convinced myself that if I controlled the circumstances, I could identify the people who would hurt me."
"And did you?"
"No. I nearly got you killed."
The admission hung between us.
I wanted to tell him that I understood. I wanted to explain that I had seen loneliness behind his anger and that I still cared about the man who had asked me why I was kind to him.
But caring about someone did not mean pretending he had done no harm.
"I don't know what I feel about you anymore," I said.
Julian nodded.
"You don't owe me an answer."
"I need you to understand something. I cared for you because you were a person who seemed to be suffering. Not because I wanted to prove my loyalty. Not because I wanted to become part of your family."
"I understand."
"And if we ever have a future, it cannot be built on fear."
He looked directly at me.
"Then I'll have to build something different."
Before I could respond, his phone rang.
The investigator had obtained a new document from the Vermont storage facility. It was a letter from Richard Cross to Arthur Bell, dated two months before Julian's accident.
The letter contained a single sentence:
When the Black Devil finally believes he is powerless, give him the name of the woman who can destroy him.
Beneath the sentence was a name.
Elena Vale.
My name.
May you like
And next to it, someone had written:
The daughter is the key. The mother is the leverage.
