Chapter 4: The Conference Room
The private conference room at Serenity Shores was not large.
A round table, six chairs, a window that looked out over the south garden.
I had chosen that window myself, years ago, because it faced the oldest part of the property — a row of royal palms I had refused to remove during the renovation.
James was already there when we arrived.
Fifty-one years old, twenty years with the company, the kind of man who noticed everything and said very little.
He set a leather folder on the table and stood to one side.
Amber looked at the folder.
Then at James.
Then at me.
"What is this?" she said.
"Sit down, Amber."
"I don't think I want to—"
"Sit down."
She sat.
Mark sat beside her, his hands flat on the table.
I remained standing.
"I want to give you both an opportunity," I said, "to tell me the truth before I tell you what I already know.
That is more than you deserve, but I am offering it anyway."
Mark's eyes moved to the folder.
"Mom, whatever you think is happening—"
"Richard Hale called me twenty minutes ago." I watched Mark's face.
The name landed.
His shoulders dropped a fraction of an inch.
"He told me about the petition."
Amber's hand found Mark's arm under the table.
A small movement.
A steadying one.
"That petition," Mark said carefully, "was filed out of concern.
You're seventy-two years old.
You're running seventeen properties alone.
We were worried—"
"You were worried," I repeated.
"The two of you.
Together."
"Yes."
"And the doctor who signed the medical statements?
Were you worried about him too?
Because his license has been suspended for five years."
Mark's mouth opened.
Closed.
"I didn't know that," he said.
"Mark." My voice was very quiet.
"Don't."
Amber leaned forward.
Her voice shifted — the shrill performance from the lobby was gone, replaced by something smoother and more deliberate.
"Eleanor, I understand you're upset.
But you have to see this from our perspective.
You're alone.
You have no one looking after your interests.
We were trying to protect you."
"From myself."
"From people who might take advantage of you."
I looked at her for a long moment.
"James," I said, "please open the folder."
James placed three documents on the table.
Amber looked at the first one and went very still.
It was a court filing from the state of Georgia.
Three years old.
A conservatorship petition filed against a seventy-eight-year-old man named Gerald Whitmore.
The petitioner's name had been redacted, but the attorney of record had not.
The attorney of record was the same firm that had filed Mark's petition against me.
"Gerald Whitmore," I said.
"Do you know that name, Amber?"
Her jaw was tight.
"No."
"He was your first husband's father.
He owned a chain of hardware stores across Georgia and Tennessee.
Eleven locations." I paused.
"He died fourteen months after the conservatorship was granted.
His estate passed entirely to the conservator."
"That has nothing to do with—"
"The conservator," I continued, "was a holding company registered in Delaware.
The sole director of that holding company was your mother."
The room was very quiet.
Mark turned slowly to look at his wife.
"Amber," he said.
Her name came out differently than it ever had before.
Careful.
Almost afraid.
She didn't look at him.
Her eyes stayed on me, and for the first time since I had known her, I saw something behind them that was not calculation.
It was something closer to the look of a person who has just realized the door they planned to walk through has been locked from the other side.
"I want to call my attorney," she said.
"Of course," I said.
"James, would you show Mrs.
Montgomery to the business center?
She can make her call from there."
James held the door open.
Amber stood, smoothed her dress, and walked out without looking at Mark.
The door closed.
Mark stared at the Georgia filing for a long time without speaking.
"How long have you known?" he finally said.
"Long enough." I sat down across from him.
"The question I need you to answer, Mark — and I need the truth — is how much of this was your idea, and how much of it was hers."
He put his face in his hands.
May you like
Outside the window, the royal palms stood perfectly still in the Florida afternoon.
I waited.
