Chapter 20 - MY SISTER’S PRICE
Z
Grant Hale believed every family had a price because he'd spent his entire professional life finding it.
He was about to discover that Karla Bennett used to be much cheaper than she was now.
Three years earlier, four hundred thousand dollars would have changed her life.
It still could.
Her condo had equity, but not enough to make her rich.
Her marketing work was going well, but she wasn't wealthy.
Four hundred thousand dollars was real money.
That was exactly why Grant picked her.
When I arrived at Daniel's office, Karla was pacing.
“What did he say?”
She handed me her phone.
“Read.”
Grant hadn't been stupid enough to write, I will pay you to betray your sister.
Instead:
Crestline may be willing to explore a direct acquisition of your beneficial interest separate from Ms. Bennett's position.
Karla had replied:
I don't own a separate recorded piece of the building.
Grant:
There are several ways to resolve divided beneficiary interests. If you feel the current management structure unfairly favors Laura, we can discuss alternatives.
Then came the number.
Potential value to you could exceed $400,000 depending on cooperation and timing.
I looked at her.
“What did you say?”
“Nothing.”
“Good.”
She folded her arms.
“I wanted to.”
My stomach tightened.
“What?”
“I wanted to ask what cooperation meant.”
“For evidence?”
“No.”
I stared at her.
She didn't look away.
“For about five seconds, I wanted the money.”
That honesty hit harder than denial.
Karla continued.
“Four hundred thousand dollars, Laura.”
“I know.”
“I started calculating.”
Her voice cracked slightly.
“Mortgage gone. No credit cards. Investments. Maybe start my own agency instead of doing contract work.”
I remained quiet.
“And then I hated myself.”
“Don't.”
She frowned.
“What?”
“Don't turn being tempted into the same thing as doing it.”
“But—”
“You told me.”
“Yes.”
“Immediately.”
“Yes.”
“You didn't hide it.”
Her expression changed.
I smiled faintly.
“We tell each other the ugly thing.”
She laughed softly.
“Immediately.”
“Especially if it starts a fight.”
She sat down.
“I still want four hundred thousand dollars.”
“Same.”
Daniel entered carrying coffee.
“Excellent. Capitalism remains undefeated.”
Karla groaned.
He read the messages.
His expression sharpened.
“He's testing division.”
“Can he actually buy Karla's interest?” I asked.
“Complicated.”
“Normal-person English.”
“He can offer. Whether he gets what he thinks he's buying is another question.”
Karla looked horrified.
“Why does property law sound like haunted-house rules?”
“Because dead people write half the documents.”
Fair.
Daniel advised her not to engage alone.
Instead, counsel sent Grant a message stating Karla was represented in all matters concerning the warehouse.
Grant didn't respond.
For twenty-four hours.
Then a courier delivered a package.
Not to Daniel.
To Karla's condo.
Inside was a proposed confidential agreement.
Crestline would pay Karla $425,000.
In exchange, she would assign “all transferable economic interests” connected to the Meridian property and cooperate in any proceeding challenging Laura's authority as managing beneficiary.
There it was.
Not subtle anymore.
Karla read the agreement at my kitchen table.
Sophia sat nearby doing homework.
“What does assign mean?” she asked.
Karla immediately covered the page.
“Adult boring stuff.”
Sophia narrowed her eyes.
“You said a bad word.”
“What?”
“Economic.”
I laughed.
Karla pointed at her.
“Bedtime.”
“Mom said eight-thirty.”
“I'm your aunt.”
“That means not boss.”
Karla stared at me.
“Again. Genetic.”
After Sophia went upstairs, my sister became quiet.
“Four twenty-five.”
“Yes.”
“He increased it.”
“Yes.”
“What would you do if I signed?”
I looked at her.
“Legally?”
“No.”
“Personally?”
“Yes.”
I thought carefully.
“I'd fight the transaction.”
“I know.”
“And afterward?”
I understood what she meant.
Would I cut her off?
Would our repaired relationship survive?
“I don't know.”
She nodded slowly.
“Good answer.”
“Why?”
“Because old you would've said you'd still love me.”
“I would.”
“But?”
“I can love someone and not trust them.”
Karla looked down.
“That's annoyingly healthy.”
“Therapy.”
“Shut up.”
Then she tore the agreement in half.
I grabbed her hand.
“Stop.”
“What?”
“Daniel needs that.”
“Oh.”
We stared at the ripped contract.
Karla whispered, “That's less dramatic.”
“Evidence usually is.”
We taped it together.
The next morning, Grant requested a meeting.
Through lawyers.
Daniel agreed.
Crestline's office occupied the top two floors of a glass building downtown.
Grant Hale looked nothing like his father in the old photographs.
Victor had been heavyset with silver hair.
Grant was maybe forty-five, lean, expensive suit, expensive watch, calm eyes.
He smiled when we entered.
“Ms. Bennett.”
I wasn't sure which one he meant.
Both of us sat down.
Daniel beside me.
Another attorney beside Grant.
Grant looked at Karla.
“I hoped this conversation could have remained more informal.”
She smiled.
“Our family tried informal financial arrangements.”
I nearly laughed.
“We don't recommend them.”
Grant's smile disappeared.
He framed everything as business.
Crestline wanted certainty.
The warehouse had “legacy complications.”
The Cross agreement.
The Northbridge option.
Beneficiary disputes.
Past mismanagement.
He could resolve all of them.
“For a discount,” I said.
“For efficiency.”
“No.”
He studied me.
“You haven't heard the number.”
“I don't need to.”
“Three million.”
“Your last offer was two point nine.”
“Then I've improved it.”
Karla leaned forward.
“The independent preliminary valuation is three point six.”
Grant's eyes moved toward her.
So he hadn't expected us to get one.
Good.
“The valuation doesn't account for disputed title.”
“Your dispute,” I said.
“My company holds rights.”
“You hold paperwork signed by someone who never owned the building.”
His attorney intervened.
“That characterization is contested.”
“Everything is contested when someone profits from confusion.”
Grant looked at me for a long moment.
Then smiled.
“Your mother was right about one thing.”
The room changed.
Daniel's voice became sharp.
“Careful.”
Grant continued.
“You don't know when to compromise.”
I felt heat rise through me.
Then Karla spoke.
“Don't talk about our mother.”
Grant looked surprised.
“She provided useful context.”
“No.”
My sister's voice hardened.
“You tried to buy useful context.”
His attorney whispered something.
Grant ignored him.
“This isn't personal.”
Karla laughed.
“You offered me four hundred twenty-five thousand dollars to help challenge my sister.”
“For your economic interest.”
“Then why require cooperation against her?”
Silence.
Good.
Karla placed the taped contract on the table.
“We're not for sale separately.”
Grant looked at the torn paper.
Then at her.
For the first time, he seemed irritated.
“You may regret that.”
Karla stood.
“I've regretted more expensive mistakes.”
We left.
In the elevator, neither of us spoke.
Then Karla started laughing.
“What?”
“I can't believe I turned down four hundred twenty-five thousand dollars.”
“You want me to buy lunch?”
“Yes.”
“Somewhere cheap.”
“Obviously.”
My phone buzzed.
Rachel Cross.
She had been going through her father's files again.
She found another box.
Inside was correspondence between Samuel Cross and Grandpa Thomas.
One letter had been written six months before Grandpa died.
Rachel sent me a photograph.
Thomas,
Arthur came to me again about the Meridian building. I told him what I've always told him: it is not his to pledge, sell, promise, or borrow against.
If anyone ever produces an option bearing Arthur's signature, I want this letter kept with my agreement.
Your son is drowning.
Do not let him pull the girls under with him.
Sam.
I stopped walking.
Karla read over my shoulder.
“Oh my God.”
Then another image arrived.
Grandpa’s response.
Sam,
Keep copies.
If Arthur ever does exactly what we fear, Laura will need people willing to tell the truth after I am gone.
I read that sentence twice.
Grandpa had known.
Samuel had known.
And two dead men had been preparing evidence for a fight they hoped we'd never have.
At the bottom of Grandpa's letter was one more line.
There is something about Victor Hale that Arthur does not know.
Karla looked at me.
“What?”
I kept reading.
If Victor pressures the girls after my death, tell them to ask Diane about the Lakeshore account.
My mother.
Again.
Except when I called her and said “Lakeshore account,” she didn't pretend not to know.
She went completely silent.
Then she whispered:
May you like
“I hoped that account was gone.”
And suddenly Grant Hale’s four-hundred-thousand-dollar bribe wasn't the biggest problem anymore.
