The Trust_ A Secret Society Novel Part 15

Lauren hadn't wanted to attend Palmer Bell's memorial service, but she did it for Nick and Phoebe. If Alejandro's funeral had been like a carnival, then Palmer's, at St. Thomas, also on Fifth Avenue, was an austere, black-clad ma.s.s. Lauren had taken Phoebe to Saks the day before in order to find something appropriately respectful and colorless. Phoebe was sitting in the first row with Nick and his family, including his two brothers, while Lauren sat behind them with Patch, Thad, and the other Society members. Lauren knew her friends understood the hypocrisy of honoring a man who was responsible for so much damage. But no one wanted to cause trouble, particularly since it might jeopardize the chances of the five of them getting out of the Society.

The service was completely impersonal, a series of hymns and readings about service and justice and truth. Lauren was glad that, unlike Alejandro's, it was relatively short, less than forty-five minutes. Afterward, Lauren joined Phoebe, who was standing with Genie and Patch outside the church.

Phoebe gave Genie a hug on the icy sidewalk. "I'm so sorry," she said.

Genie swatted her away with a folded program. "Oh, don't you be sorry, dear. I still curse that man's name for everything he was responsible for. I'm only here because it's the right thing to do."

Patch merely shrugged at the girls, and there was an awkward pause.

"Well, I need to go downtown, actually," Lauren said. "I figured that I might as well take the rest of the day off, since they're not expecting us back at school. I have to stop by Giroux. Phoebe, do you want to come with me?"

Phoebe shook her head. "I think I'd better stay with Nick, you know, make sure he's okay."

"Of course," Lauren said. "I understand."

Lauren parted ways with the rest of the group and took the subway downtown. When she arrived at Giroux, she headed to Sebastian's office. She had sent over a portfolio earlier of her new designs for the Colette store in Paris, and she was eager to hear what he thought.

He was in his office. Lauren knocked on the door and then popped her head in.

"Lauren! Come, sit!"

Lauren sat down on one of the two Eames chairs in his office. Sebastian had given her this new opportunity that she needed, and yet she wondered if she really deserved it. She was encouraged by the fact that her designs were selling, both nationally and in Europe. Was that proof enough that she had talent?

"I'm curious to know what you think about the Colette line," she said. "I decided to go in an Egyptian direction this time, as I was inspired by the Dendur Ball. But these are reinterpretations, more like the pieces that became popular in the 1920s and beyond."

Sebastian flipped through Lauren's black portfolio. "These are beautiful. I think we're all set with this. Colette will love these."

"I hope so," Lauren said. "Will you let me know what they say?"

"I'll do even better. I want you to come to Paris next month, for a week during spring break, to view the unveiling of their new collection. It will be huge huge to have the actual designer in their midst." to have the actual designer in their midst."

"Really?" Lauren asked. "To Paris?"

"Absolutely," Sebastian said. "I want to introduce you to some other European buyers, and I'd like you to accompany me on visits to several ateliers. I probably shouldn't mention this, but a few designers have also expressed interest in using your pieces as accessories in their upcoming runway shows."

"Oh my G.o.d-can you say who?"

"I'd rather not. I don't want to get your hopes up. But I can a.s.sure you that if any one of them picked your line, you'd be extremely pleased."

Lauren blushed. "Thank you. I don't know what to-this is just so exciting!"

"Well, you deserve it." Sebastian leaned forward. "There's something else I wanted to mention to you. That little incident that we had last month?"

"Oh, please, I'd rather not think about that," Lauren said, groaning. He was referring to the awful episode with the stolen earrings.

"We've learned who was responsible for it," Sebastian said. "One of the security guards, not Danny, but the other one that week, a temp from the agency, was paid off to place the earrings in your bag. I don't know who arranged it, but I'm glad that it was cleared up. Of course, I never believed that you had done it."

"Thank you," Lauren said. "I appreciate that." She wasn't really sure what to say, as she felt such mixed emotions. Clearly, the Society had been responsible, but did Sebastian not know that? Were all these orders coming from a higher place? Maybe she had achieved the connection with Sebastian on her own merits, and his affiliation with the Society was purely coincidental. In that case, perhaps she could still work for Sebastian and not be a member of the Society, if the five of them could manage to get out. But was that right? She wanted to go to Paris, to have that opportunity, to be mentored by famous designers, to meet people in the fas.h.i.+on industry. But what were the strings that were attached to it all? What price would she have to pay?

Chapter Forty-One.

The next day, the Bell family was called together for a reading of Palmer Bell's will. Nick's father had a.s.sisted in its preparation, so most of it was perfunctory, but it was a formality that Palmer's last wishes be read to the group of interested parties.

The Bell family's lawyers were in a landmarked midtown office building with a beautiful WPA-era mural in its lobby. It was the type of s.p.a.ce that, to Nick, spoke of tradition and legacy, of one's place in the history of the city. The meeting had been set for ten A.M. A.M., and he had arrived separately from the rest of his family. As Nick was about to enter the elevator bank, he was surprised to see Patch talking to a security guard. His friend was given a badge and he started walking toward Nick.

"Patch? What are you doing here?" Nick called.

Patch caught up to him, slightly out of breath. "I'm not really sure. I got a call yesterday that I was supposed to attend a meeting at your father's lawyer's offices."

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"I thought you knew about it already."

Nick looked at his watch. "We'd better be getting up there. They're going to be starting soon."

In preparation for the meeting, Nick had slicked back his dark hair and was wearing a suit, Italian loafers, and a wool winter coat. He examined Patch's outfit: khakis, a b.u.t.ton-down, Converse sneakers, and a huge parka.

"You look nice," Patch said. "I sort of wish I had dressed up a little more."

"Don't worry about it," Nick said. "It's a lawyer's office. They work for us, remember? But who called you about this, anyway?"

The elevator was nearing the twenty-first floor.

"I didn't catch her name. Someone's a.s.sistant, I think. She just said it was important and it had to do with your family."

Nick didn't have time to think about what it meant as they were ushered in, though he sensed that something important, maybe even life-changing, was about to be revealed. He sat down at the large polished conference table with the rest of his family, while Patch took a seat along the far wall of the room.

Nick was sitting next to his two brothers, Henry and Benjamin, and directly across from his mother and father. Farther down the table was Nick's uncle, Philip, and his wife, Eleanor, who had left the Upper East Side for the suburbs of Westchester; their children, Maggie, twelve, and Caroline, ten, were presumably at school. Philip and Eleanor had distanced themselves from the family in recent years, and Nick hadn't seen them at any of the Society functions. He wasn't sure if they were members or not.

Nick had noticed his father flinch when Patch entered the room and his mother whisper something to his father.

Oh, G.o.d, Nick thought, Nick thought, here it comes here it comes.

Aldon Story, the Bell family lawyer, started by reading through what seemed like an interminable list of a.s.sets. There were all of Palmer's investments, including businesses and real estate that Nick had never even known about.

Finally, they got to the financial a.s.sets. Parker Bell was stoic, but Nick could see Henry and Benjamin s.h.i.+fting in their seats. Nick's mother, Gigi, kept wetting her lips. Eleanor whispered something to Philip.

Sharks circling around a bleeding carca.s.s, Nick thought. They had all known this day would come; some of them might have already been aware of their inheritance. And yet still, there was a finality in having it all read aloud.

Parker and Georgiana Bell would be receiving a significant amount, as would Philip and Eleanor, well over a quarter of a billion dollars. Then the lawyer began to read off the list of grandchildren: Maggie, Caroline, Nick, Ben, and Henry.

Each of them would be the beneficiary of a trust valued at thirty million dollars. For the three boys, the trustee, until they reached the age of twenty-five, would be their father, Parker Bell. From what Nick understood about trusts, this meant that his father could give each beneficiary access to each trust at his discretion.

As expected, the remainder of Palmer Bell's estate would go to the Bradford Trust, to be used for whatever endeavors, charitable and otherwise, that it saw fit.

Nick's shoulders relaxed and then tightened again. It was good news-wonderful news, actually-that the trust was so generous, but it wasn't exactly good news that his father would remain the trustee for so long.

Mr. Story cleared his throat. "There is one more beneficiary in Mr. Bell's will."

Everyone looked around in confusion. Was there someone who had been missed? A long lost cousin whom Palmer had decided to include?

"I believe he is here today," Mr. Story said. "The last beneficiary is Patchfield Evans the third, Palmer Bell's grandson."

Nick sat back in his seat, simultaneously stunned and fascinated at this development. This confirmed what he had known. Confirmed the truth he had been hiding from his friend for the past two months, the truth Nick had tried to ignore.

This would change everything.

Did his father know Patch was to be a part of the will? Would Patch himself have any clue about what this meant?

Nick looked over to Patch, who was still sitting at the edge of the room, awestruck.

Nick's brothers were even more perplexed.

"What-Mr. Story, what does this mean?" Henry asked. "How is Patch related-"

"Henry, settle down!" Parker Bell said.

The lawyer spoke. "I believe it will all become clear soon," he said. "As for each of your trusts, you should contact our office individually to make arrangements regarding its disburs.e.m.e.nt. There are certain parameters that have been put in place, which your specific trustee-in each case, the father in each family-can change at any time. We will discuss how that works individually with each one of you."

"But what about..." Ben asked, his voice trailing off.

"Ben, Henry, Nick, I'll discuss it with you at home," Parker said.

Patch looked as if he might be ill. He made a motion to Nick that they should leave, and Nick nodded to him, getting up. Nick had no idea how he was going to explain the little that he knew.

"Nicholas, where are you going? We're not finished yet!" Parker Bell said.

"I think we're finished, Dad. I'll see you back at home."

Nick pushed open the door to the conference room, and Patch followed him.

Once they were out on the sidewalk, the chilly air was like a wake-up call.

"What just happened there?" Patch said.

"Well, you're thirty million dollars richer," Nick said, laughing.

"Wow, um, okay-it may take me a few days to process this. And what's this about your father being the trustee?"

"That's just the way trusts work. Until we turn twenty-five. They don't want you to blow the whole thing."

"But more importantly," Patch said, "why? What did I do to deserve this? Your grandfather never really cared for me, as far as I could tell. I don't even know if your father likes me. The lawyer said I was a grandchild of Palmer's. How could that be the case?"

Nick thought back to everything he knew. He decided to speak carefully.

"Is it possible," Nick said, "that your father, Patch, Jr., wasn't really your father?"

"Then who was my father?"

Nick paused before answering. "My dad?"

The two of them stood in stunned silence on the sidewalk as people pa.s.sed them, cars honked, everyone went about their daily life on a mid-morning in February.

"So that makes us... brothers?" Nick asked.

"Half brothers, to be precise," Patch said. "So my mother and your father-our father-had a-I don't know, an affair of some kind?" Patch seemed truly confounded by the news.

Nick stood there with Patch for a moment, in amazement that this moment had finally come. He wiped away a tear from his eye and then put one arm around Patch, squeezing him tightly.

"Come on," Nick said. "Let's get out of the cold."

Chapter Forty-Two.

They decided on the bar at the Algonquin Hotel, which was a slightly shopworn, pretzels-and-peanuts kind of place with leather banquettes and sketches of Broadway shows on its wood-paneled walls. Nick said he had agreed to meet up with Phoebe after the reading of the will, and he texted her their location. The bar was open for lunch, and they pretended that they were there to eat, but neither Patch nor Nick expressed much interest in food. Nick ordered some fries for the table and three c.o.kes.

Phoebe arrived a moment later. She looked at Nick, then at Patch. "What's going on here?"

"We'll explain in a second," Nick said.

"I might need something stronger," Patch said, only half-joking as he motioned to his c.o.ke. He was still in shock from the news and wasn't really sure how to process it. "Can I get a dirty martini?" he mock called to the waitress.

"Hold on there, Lost Weekend Lost Weekend, let's keep our heads on, okay?" Nick said.

Nick explained to Phoebe, as quickly as he could, what had been revealed. Phoebe nodded in amazement.

"I should call Genie," Patch said, interrupting Nick's story. "I don't know if I can reach her, though." Genie was in the Catskills with a friend for a few days, at an old mountain retreat where she could curl up by the fireplace, play backgammon, and read paperback mysteries. She had decided she needed to get out of town after all the excitement of Palmer's death and the necklace heist. The problem was that this made her annoyingly unreachable. "She never has her phone turned on, unless it's in the charger," Patch said. "It has somehow escaped her that the purpose of a cell phone is to keep it with you."

He tried her, but it went directly to voice mail. She wouldn't be returning home until the weekend.

Patch decided he would call the next best person who might be able to explain it to him. His mother's number at the hospital was programmed into his phone, and he dialed it. It was a snap decision to call her, and as he heard the line ringing, he started to think better of it. What would he say to her? Was this really a conversation he wanted to have in front of Nick and Phoebe? A nurse answered the main line at the Stoney River Psychiatric Hospital in Ossining, and he asked for his mom. After a moment, the nurse said she was unavailable, but they would give her the message. He was almost relieved she hadn't been there.

Nick and Phoebe looked at him plaintively. He felt like someone they had to feel sorry for.

"What's up, you guys?" Patch asked.

"It's so odd," Nick said. "Like, I feel like we should be celebrating about the trust funds, but that doesn't feel right. My grandfather could be an a.s.s, but clearly he was looking out for you-for us-in some way."