Chapter 6 - Susan’s First Truth
Marcus was waiting when they brought Susan back from the examination room.
She had changed into grey county-issued clothes. Her hair was still straight, but one side had been tucked behind her ear and would not stay there. Her hands were cuffed in front of her.
Quinn stood between them.
“You get five minutes if she agrees.”
Susan looked at Marcus.
“I agree.”
They put them in an empty consultation room.
Quinn stayed by the door.
Marcus placed a printed copy of the Birch Seventeen bank record on the table.
Susan looked at her own name.
Nothing moved in her face for several seconds.
Then she said, “That account isn’t mine.”
“It says it is.”
“Peter opened it.”
“You knew?”
“I knew there was an account.”
“Three point two million dollars from employee retirement money went into it three hours ago.”
Susan’s head came up.
“What?”
Marcus watched her.
That was the first thing she had said all night that sounded unprepared.
“You didn’t know.”
“No.”
“You expect me to believe that after Dad spent eleven days behind a wall?”
Susan looked at the tabletop.
“I gave him water.”
Marcus stood so fast the chair legs hit the floor behind him.
Quinn moved one step forward.
Susan did not flinch.
“I gave him water,” she said again. “I gave him food. I changed the bucket.”
Marcus’s mouth opened.
Nothing came out.
“I know what I did.”
“No, I don’t think you do.”
“I know exactly.”
“You taped his mouth.”
“Tonight.”
“You tied his wrists.”
“Tonight.”
“Why?”
“Because you were coming.”
The answer was so close to Arthur’s that Marcus had to look away.
Susan’s voice dropped.
“Vincent said Dad would ruin everything if he shouted. Peter said we needed four hours. Just four.”
“What was supposed to happen after I signed?”
“Dad was going to a private nursing unit in Connecticut.”
Marcus laughed once.
“You believe that?”
“I did then.”
“No. You needed to.”
Susan’s jaw tightened.
Marcus put both hands on the table.
“What is Red Oak?”
“A sale.”
“I know.”
“Vincent said the company was already dying.”
“It isn’t.”
“I know that now.”
“You’ve lived at that house nine years. You sat twelve feet from him and ate dinner.”
Susan’s eyes filled but the tears did not fall.
Marcus did not soften.
“Why?”
She looked at him.
“Because he was giving it to you.”
Marcus stopped.
“The company?”
“Everything that mattered.”
“He gave me twelve percent.”
“He gave you the right twelve.”
Marcus said nothing.
Susan leaned forward as far as the cuffs allowed.
“I ran operations for eighteen years. I came home when Mom got sick. I stayed after she died. I lived with Dad when you saw him six weekends a year and called that being close.”
“And that bought you an elevator shaft?”
“No.”
“What did it buy?”
“Anger.”
The room went quiet.
Susan looked at Quinn, then back at Marcus.
“Vincent found out Peter could force a sale if we assembled ninety percent. Peter said there were buyers. Peter said everybody could get out clean.”
“Except Dad.”
“I did not agree to kill him.”
Marcus stared at her.
Susan lowered her voice.
“The syringe was a sedative. Peter gave it to me in case Dad fought when they moved him.”
“You expect me—”
“I never used it.”
The hospital door opened behind Quinn.
A man in a navy suit stood there carrying a leather briefcase.
Sixty-one. Silver hair. Thin mouth. Glasses in his breast pocket.
Peter Vale.
He looked first at Susan.
Then at Marcus.
Then at the bank record on the table.
“You should not be speaking to my client,” he said.
Quinn’s hand moved toward her radio.
Marcus did not take his eyes off Peter.
Peter set the briefcase down.
“I’m here to represent Susan.”
From the hall behind him came the squeak of a hospital cart.
Arthur’s voice carried from two rooms away, raw and sudden.
“No.”
Everybody turned.
Arthur shouted again.
“Marcus. That’s him.”
Peter’s face changed.
Not much.
Enough.
May you like
Arthur’s monitor began alarming.
