Chapter 9: The Calloway Office
Gerald Calloway's office was on the fourteenth floor of a building downtown, the kind of office designed to make visitors feel small before anyone said a word.
Dark wood, high ceilings, a desk that was too large to be functional and existed only to communicate distance.
Gerald himself stood when we entered.
He was in his mid-fifties, silver-haired, the same man from the photograph outside my store.
He was smiling.
"Nora," he said, extending his hand.
"I'm glad you came."
I shook it once.
"Mr.
Calloway."
His smile didn't move.
He looked at Grace.
"Ms.
Ellison.
I've heard good things."
"I'm sure," Grace said, and sat down.
Gerald sat.
His own attorney, a younger man named Forsythe, was already at the table with a legal pad.
"I want to begin by saying that none of this needs to be adversarial," Gerald said.
"My father made decisions I wasn't always aware of.
I've been trying to understand the full picture since his death."
"Then you'll understand why we declined the NDA," I said.
His smile adjusted slightly.
"I understand it was a misread of my intentions.
The proposal was meant to protect both parties, not to—"
"It was meant to silence me," I said.
"And to protect the estate from liability for what your father did."
Forsythe made a note on his legal pad.
Gerald leaned back.
"I think if we can speak plainly—"
"I am speaking plainly," I said.
A beat.
The smile was gone now.
"What is it you actually want?" he asked.
"What my father left me."
"The trust is a complicated matter.
The legal standing after twenty years of—"
"The trust was never dissolved," Grace said.
"The assets were held in a restricted account.
The named beneficiary is present, alive, and contesting your motion.
The legal standing is straightforward."
"There are questions about the validity of certain documents that have apparently come to light," Forsythe said carefully.
"Paul Whitmore is prepared to authenticate every document in person," Grace said.
"Under oath."
Something moved across Gerald's face.
Not fear exactly.
The recognition of a door closing.
"Paul has been with this family for forty years," Gerald said, and his voice had changed.
Quieter.
"What he's doing is a betrayal."
"What your father did was a betrayal," I said.
"Paul is correcting it."
Gerald looked at me for a long moment.
Then he said, "You don't know what you're opening."
"Tell me."
"My father was not a good man.
I know that.
But the people he dealt with — the arrangements he made — some of those people are still in positions of influence.
If this goes to court, if that letter becomes part of a public record, you are not just going after a d*ad man's estate.
You are pulling a thread that goes further than you think."
Grace said, "Is that a warning or a threat?"
"It's information," Gerald said.
He looked at me.
"I'm telling you that my father did not operate alone.
Briggs was one name.
There were others.
If you push this, those others will push back.
Not at me.
At you."
The room was very quiet.
"Are you telling me," I said slowly, "that there are other people who benefited from what was done to me and my mother?"
He didn't answer.
"Are there other families?" I asked.
Still nothing.
"Gerald." My voice was steady.
"Are there other children?"
He looked at the desk.
His hands were flat on the surface.
He didn't pick up a pen.
He didn't reach for his phone.
"I need immunity," he said quietly.
"If I cooperate, I need a guarantee that what I provide won't be used against me personally."
Grace and I looked at each other.
"That's not our decision to make," Grace said.
"That's a conversation for a prosecutor."
Gerald's head came up.
"You've already contacted someone."
"We contacted the state attorney's office this morning," Grace said.
"After you declined to withdraw the motion voluntarily."
Forsythe's pen had stopped moving.
"The letter to Briggs, the witness statement, and the documented pattern of interference have been submitted for review," Grace continued.
"This is no longer only a civil matter."
Gerald Calloway sat very still.
Then he said, "I want my own attorney.
Not Forsythe.
Someone else."
May you like
Forsythe looked up from his legal pad.
"I think," Gerald said quietly, "I've made some mistakes."
