He paused.
— What do you want?
— To sleep.
— Then talk to the doctor.
— Then a lawyer.
— Then decide where I want to live.
David felt an urge: Here. With me.
He didn't say it.
— Okay.
Claire nodded.
That was the first real act of reconstruction.
Not a hug.
Not a promise.
A question.
And an «okay».
Margaret didn't sleep.
By six in the morning, she was in the kitchen.
No wine.
Coffee.
David walked in.
— Claire is still asleep.
— Good.
— I want to talk.
Margaret:
— With a lawyer.
— At ten o'clock.
— Before that, I want to ask one question.
— What?
— Were you planning to separate us permanently?
Margaret immediately shook her head.
— No.
David believed her.
That surprised him.
— Then what were you thinking?
— That I needed time.
— For what?
— To fix the situation.
— What situation?
Margaret clammed up.
— The trust.
— What did you do?
She didn't answer.
David:
— Mom.
— I'm not going to yell.
— I'm not going to threaten you.
— But don't lie to me again.
Margaret looked at him.
— The Charleston investment went wrong.
— What investment?
— Riverside Quay.
David knew it.
A residential complex.
He thought it was Margaret’s private investment.
— You used the trust?
— Part of it.
— How much?
— Initially four million.
David felt it coming.
— Initially.
— Eight point two.
Silence.
— Dad strictly prohibited exposures greater than ten percent in private developments.
— I know.
— Why?
— Because the projected return was huge.
— That’s not an answer.
Margaret:
— Because your father’s company was disappearing.
— We sold the operations.
— Only passive assets remained.
— I wanted to build something again.
— With money you were managing for me.