Chapter 3 - The FuneralJason wanted the funeral to look perfect.
That told me everything.
Three days after Helen died, he stood in our kitchen arguing with the funeral director about camera angles.
“She spent forty years in Chicago philanthropy,” he said. “There’ll be press.”
The funeral director, an exhausted man named Mr. Walsh, blinked.
“This is a private service, Mr. Carter.”
“I understand. But people photograph arrivals.”
I sat across the room with Emma.
My daughter squeezed my hand beneath the table.
Since Jason returned from Maui, she had barely spoken to him.
Madison had disappeared after receiving the board notice, although I later learned she had checked into the Langham under another reservation.
Jason claimed she had returned to work.
He also claimed their relationship was professional.
Neither Emma nor I argued.
Some lies are too insulting to debate.
The service was scheduled for Saturday at St. Matthew’s, the church Helen had attended for thirty-two years.
Jason wanted an elaborate floral display.
Helen’s will specifically requested white lilies, a closed service, and donations to a nursing scholarship fund.
I followed Helen’s instructions.
Jason hated it.
“This looks cheap,” he muttered when we arrived.
I stared at the six enormous arrangements surrounding his mother’s casket.
“Then buy your own flowers.”
His eyes flashed.
“You’re enjoying this.”
“Enjoying what?”
“Having control.”
I stepped closer so Emma couldn’t hear.
“Your mother is dead. If you think any part of this is enjoyable, you understand me even less than I thought.”
He looked away.
The church filled quickly.
Employees from Carter Aeronautics occupied several rows.
Executives arrived with their spouses.
Former workers Helen had personally helped showed up wearing old suits.
A nurse from the hospital came.
So did her hairdresser.
The woman who had delivered Helen’s groceries during the pandemic sat in the back and cried throughout the service.
That was Helen.
Her real legacy wasn’t the company.
It was people who remembered how she made them feel.
Jason sat beside me in the front pew.
For appearances.
When the minister invited family members to speak, Emma stood.
“My grandmother taught me that kindness is what you do when nobody benefits from seeing it.”
Jason’s head lowered.
I wondered if Emma had chosen those words intentionally.
Probably.
“She remembered birthdays,” Emma continued. “She tipped people generously. She wrote thank-you cards. She kept granola bars in her purse because she hated the idea of someone being hungry. And whenever I made a mistake, she would say, ‘Well, now you know one more way not to do it.’”
People laughed softly through tears.
Then Emma looked at her father.
“Grandma believed people could change. But she also believed apologies without change were just another kind of lie.”
You could feel the room tighten.
Jason stared straight ahead.
After the service, people approached us in a receiving line.
Halfway through, I noticed Madison.
She was standing near the back of the church.
Black dress.
Dark glasses.
Waiting.
My stomach hardened.
Emma saw her too.
“You have got to be kidding me.”
Jason turned.
His face changed.
I whispered, “Did you invite her?”
“No.”
Madison approached slowly.
“I wanted to pay my respects.”
Emma stepped between us.
“My grandmother heard you laughing while she was dying.”
Several nearby conversations stopped.
Madison’s face reddened.
“I didn’t know—”
“You knew my mom was calling.”
“Emma,” Jason warned.
“No. You don’t get to ‘Emma’ me.”
Her voice trembled.
“You ignored us because you were on a beach with her.”
Madison removed her sunglasses.
Her eyes were wet.
Whether from shame or calculation, I couldn’t tell.
“I’m sorry.”
Emma looked at her for a long moment.
“Leave.”
Jason touched Emma’s arm.
She jerked away.
“I said leave.”
Madison looked at Jason.
And there it was.
A tiny glance.
Intimate.
Automatic.
The kind of look two people exchange when they are used to communicating without words.
Emma saw it.
So did I.
Madison walked away.
Jason followed her three steps before stopping himself.
That tiny movement was enough.
My daughter’s face broke.
She turned and rushed toward the side hallway.
I followed.
She was crying before I reached her.
“Mom, how long?”
“I don’t know.”
“You knew?”
“Not until Maui.”
She wiped her face angrily.
“Why is he doing this?”
I wished I had an answer.
Instead, I said the only true thing I could.
“Because people can love you and still choose selfishness.”
“That doesn’t make sense.”
“No.”
I held her.
“It doesn’t.”
When we returned, Jason was gone.
An executive named Martin Shaw approached me.
Martin had worked beside Richard for decades and now served as board chairman.
“We need to talk.”
“About Monday?”
“Yes.”
His expression was grave.
“Jason has been calling directors individually.”
“Trying to save his job?”
“More than that.”
Martin glanced around before continuing.
“He’s claiming Helen was cognitively impaired when she signed the proxy.”
My blood went cold.
“She wasn’t.”
“I know.”
“He’s challenging his dead mother’s competence three days after abandoning her?”
Martin looked uncomfortable.
“He says you manipulated her.”
I almost laughed.
Of course.
When a man has spent years believing women exist to support his decisions, the first time they resist him must feel like manipulation.
“What else?”
Martin hesitated.
“The Meridian deal contains a clause we only discovered yesterday.”
“What clause?”
“If the sale collapses after Monday, Carter Aeronautics owes a ninety-million-dollar termination penalty.”
My stomach dropped.
“Ninety million?”
“Unless we can prove material misrepresentation.”
“By whom?”
His eyes shifted toward the church entrance where Jason had disappeared.
“That’s what Monday’s meeting is going to determine.”
Later that evening, after everyone had left the reception, I returned home.
Jason was in Helen’s room.
Drawers were open.
Papers covered the floor.
“What are you doing?”
He turned sharply.
“Where are the originals?”
“Safe.”
“Claire, you don’t understand the consequences.”
“You keep saying that.”
“Because you don’t.”
He came closer.
“If this deal fails, hundreds of people could lose jobs.”
“You should have thought about that before hiding financial interests.”
His expression froze.
That was all I needed.
“You knew,” he said.
“Helen knew.”
His eyes became hard.
“My mother was confused.”
“No.”
“She was sick.”
“She was clear enough to know where you were.”
Jason flinched.
Then anger replaced shame.
“You’ve hated Madison from the beginning.”
“I barely knew Madison existed before she answered your phone.”
“You’re trying to punish me.”
I studied the man I had slept beside for twenty years.
There was a time when I could predict his moods by the way he set down his keys.
Now he looked like a stranger wearing my husband’s face.
“This isn’t revenge, Jason.”
“Then what is it?”
“Consequences.”
He laughed bitterly.
“You think you can run Dad’s company?”
“I have no intention of running it.”
“Good.”
“I intend to make sure you don’t destroy it.”
His smile vanished.
The next morning, Nathaniel called me.
“Claire, I found something.”
“What?”
“Helen hired a forensic accountant six weeks ago.”
I sat up.
“Why?”
“She suspected money was being moved through a consulting company.”
“Madison’s?”
“Not exactly.”
I heard papers turning.
“The company is registered to someone named Evelyn Vale.”
“Madison’s mother?”
“Yes.”
“How much money?”
Nathaniel went quiet.
“Over the last eighteen months?”
“Yes.”
“Fourteen point six million dollars.”
I stared at the wall.
“And Claire?”
May you like
“What?”
“That’s only what we’ve found so far.”
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