Chapter 5: What Amber Knew
She pulled out the chair beside Mark and sat down as though she had been expected.
"Good morning, Eleanor." Her voice was warm.
Resort-warm — the particular pleasantness she wore when she wanted something.
She set her phone face-down on the table, a gesture that managed to look casual and deliberate at the same time.
"Beautiful morning, isn't it?"
"It is," I said.
"I slept wonderfully." She reached over and touched Mark's arm lightly.
"You were up early."
"Couldn't sleep," he said.
She looked at him a moment, then at me, then back to him.
Whatever she saw in his face made something flicker behind her eyes.
"I've been doing a little reading this morning," she said, turning back to me.
"On my phone.
Very interesting."
"Oh?"
"Harrison Hospitality Group." She let the name sit there.
"That is your company, isn't it, Eleanor?
I found the Florida business registry.
Seventeen properties.
Primary shareholder listed as Eleanor Ruth Harrison." She tilted her head slightly.
"That's you."
Delia appeared and Amber ordered a green juice without looking at her.
Delia left.
"So," Amber continued.
"You own this resort."
"Among others," I said.
"And you let me believe you were —" She stopped.
Recalibrated.
The warmth in her voice cooled by one careful degree.
"You were testing us."
"I was learning something."
"And what did you learn?"
I looked at her steadily.
"Quite a lot."
Mark shifted in his chair.
Amber noticed and her hand moved to his arm again — a small anchoring gesture.
"I owe you an apology," she said.
The words came out smoothly, practiced-sounding.
"The things I said in the lobby were rude.
I'm not proud of them."
"No," I said.
"I don't imagine you are."
"I'd like to start fresh.
If that's possible." She smiled.
"We clearly got off on the wrong foot."
"We got off on the foot you chose to put forward," I said.
"That's useful information."
The smile stayed in place but the warmth behind it evaporated entirely.
She looked at Mark.
He was studying the tablecloth.
"Mark," she said.
"Help me out here."
"Amber —"
"I'm being perfectly reasonable." Her voice sharpened by a fraction.
"I apologized.
I'm trying to have a conversation.
Your mother is being —"
"My mother is being honest," Mark said.
Amber went still.
It was a small thing — five words, quietly spoken, no drama in them.
But Delia, returning with the green juice, picked up the temperature of the table and set the glass down without a word and left quickly.
"I see," Amber said.
"I spoke to her this morning," Mark said.
"On my own.
We had a conversation that we should have had a long time ago."
"About what, exactly?"
"About a number of things."
Amber's eyes moved between us.
The calculation behind them was almost visible — quick and efficient, like someone running numbers.
"The board meeting," she said.
"Thursday.
What is that?"
"Company business," I said.
"Mark is your son.
If it involves the family trust —" She stopped.
"It does involve a trust, doesn't it?
That's what the letter was about."
I didn't answer.
I picked up my cup.
"I'd like to be included," Amber said.
"In whatever discussion is happening Thursday.
I think that's reasonable.
As Mark's wife, anything affecting the family affects me as well."
"Thursday's meeting involves the company board and my legal team," I said.
"It is a business meeting."
"And Mark?"
"Mark will be informed of everything that concerns him."
"That isn't good enough." The pleasantness was almost entirely gone now.
"I'm his wife.
We share finances.
Whatever he inherits, or whatever arrangements you're making, I have a right to —"
"You have a right," I said, setting my cup down, "to whatever Mark chooses to share with you.
That's the extent of it."
Amber set both hands flat on the table.
Her jaw was tight.
For a moment she looked like she might say something she could not walk back.
Then she stood.
"I need some air," she said.
And to Mark, quietly but not quietly enough: "We'll talk later.
About all of this."
She walked away across the terrace, back straight, phone in hand.
Mark watched her go.
"She's going to make some calls," he said.
"I expect so."
"Her father knows people.
Lawyers, financial advisors.
She'll try to find out what she's legally entitled to."
"Let her."
He looked at me.
"You're not worried."
"No."
He was quiet.
Then: "Should I be?"
I thought about the letter on the desk upstairs.
About Richard Calloway's office, the board members I had known for twenty years, the legal structure I had spent three years carefully building.
"Not if you make the right choices in the next forty-eight hours," I said.
His coffee had gone cold.
He drank it anyway.
"What does that mean?"
I stood and gathered my things.
"It means I'd like you to come to Thursday's meeting.
Not as my son.
As someone making a decision about what kind of man he wants to be."
I left him there at the table, looking out at the garden path where Amber had disappeared.
By noon, Sarah had texted me twice.
Amber had asked the concierge desk for the name of a local attorney specializing in estate law.
She had also placed a call on the lobby phone, which was unusual — most guests used their mobiles.
Sarah thought she might not have wanted the call visible on her records.
I read both messages and replied to neither.
I called Richard instead.
"We may need to move Thursday up," I told him.
"Can you do Wednesday?"
"I'll rearrange," he said without hesitation.
"How urgent?"
"Urgent enough," I said.
"And Richard — make sure the asset protection language is airtight.
Every property.
Every account."
A brief pause.
"Eleanor.
Has something happened?"
May you like
"Not yet," I said.
"But it's about to."
