Part 2
Adrian pulled at the back of his chair without sitting down.
“Dad, I never intended—”
“Your intentions aren’t in dispute. Your conduct is.”
Camille straightened. She seemed ready to speak, but Raymond raised one hand without looking at her. Adrian swallowed.
“There are things between Natalie and me that you don’t understand.”
“Then tell me what I’ve misunderstood.”
Adrian glanced toward his wife. Natalie kept her eyes on him. He found nothing to say.
Raymond rose and came around the table. He moved without hurry, stopping beside his son rather than facing him from a distance.
“When I started Veylor, a late payment could have put us under. Men delivered fuel because I said I’d pay them Friday. Drivers stayed because I kept the promises I made when there wasn’t enough business to justify them.” He rested a hand on Adrian’s shoulder. “That’s what you inherited. Not merely a title and an expense account.”
Adrian’s jaw tightened beneath his father’s hand.
“You’ve had an education other people would have worked half a lifetime to afford. You were given responsibility before you’d proved you could carry it. And tonight, when the woman who has supported you is insulted at her own table, you stand here waiting for me to make it stop.”
“Raymond,” Evelyn murmured.
He removed his hand from Adrian’s shoulder and turned to Camille.
“You’ve made a serious error.”
Her mouth hardened. “You don’t get to decide whether we love each other.”
“I’m describing your judgment. You chose a man who deceived his wife because an honest conversation required more courage than he possessed. Now you’re insulting her while he watches. What, exactly, persuaded you that he was a prize?”
Camille’s fingers slipped from the chair back.
“Adrian and I have plans.”
“Not plans that involve my company or my money.”
Adrian took a step toward him. “Can we please slow down?”
“No.”
Raymond looked at Natalie then, briefly, before returning to his son.
“Your company cards are canceled tonight. I’ll suspend discretionary payments from your grandfather’s trust in the morning. As trustee, I have that authority. On Monday, security will supervise the collection of anything personal from your office. Your employment at Veylor ends now.”
Adrian stared at him.
“You’re firing me?”
“I just did.”
“The Ostrel acquisition closes in weeks. I’m heading a hundred-million-dollar transaction.”
“Someone competent will finish it.”
“Over this?” Adrian’s voice rose. “Over a private matter?”
Raymond’s expression did not change.
“You spent company money concealing an affair, and then stood by while your wife was abused in front of us. You won’t be making decisions with other people’s livelihoods.”
Camille’s gaze shifted sharply to Adrian. Natalie saw it happen: the first calculation that did not end in Camille’s favor.
“This is obscene,” Camille said. “You can’t punish him because his marriage is over.”
“His marriage is Natalie’s concern. His position is mine.”
Raymond moved away from them and stopped beside Natalie’s chair. She had never been so aware of being seated while everyone around her stood.
“Look at me,” he said, more gently.
She did.
“My son’s failure to value you is his failure. You will not be made to carry it.”
Her eyes stung. She blinked until his face was clear again.
He turned back toward the doorway.
“Both of you are leaving.”
Adrian looked around the room as though he had only just remembered where he was. “I live here.”
“Not tonight.”
“My clothes, my things—”
“You can arrange to collect them when Natalie agrees. You won’t come back unannounced.”
For the first time, Adrian addressed her directly.
“Nat, surely you’re not going to let him—”
Raymond cut him off.
“She stays. You go.”
Camille picked up her bag. She no longer looked at Natalie. Adrian lingered one moment longer, then followed her through the door.
Teresa let them out. When the latch caught, Natalie unclenched her hands and discovered that one thumbnail had left a deep mark in her palm.
Evelyn sat down heavily.
“I don’t understand how he could bring her here,” she said. Tears ran into the creases beside her mouth. “With all of us sitting here.”
Raymond returned to his place. The main course had been served during the confrontation and sat untouched. He looked at his plate, then pushed it aside.
“Teresa,” he said when the housekeeper appeared, “coffee, please. And give us a little time.”
Natalie almost laughed at the absurdity of coffee after what had happened. What came out was a rough breath.
Raymond heard it.
“I owe you an apology.”
She shook her head. “You didn’t invite her.”
“No. But you should have been protected from that in a family home. We failed you.” He paused, visibly dissatisfied with his own formal words. “I’m sorry, Natalie.”
She reached for her water.
“Is he really finished at the company?”
“Yes.”
“Because of me?”
“Because of himself. I can’t entrust a business to someone who treats every obligation as negotiable when it inconveniences him.”
The water glass clicked against her teeth. She lowered it carefully.
“You said he’d spent company money. How long have you known?”
Raymond glanced once at Evelyn. His wife looked down at her napkin.
“Six months ago, expenses began coming through that didn’t match the work. Resort stays. Extended trips with a consultant. I had the accounts reviewed.”
Natalie stared at him. “Six months.”
“I wanted to see whether he would correct his behavior without being compelled.”
She drew the glass closer, then pushed it away again. There was no comfort in that answer. Raymond did not try to make it comforting.
“I misjudged how long to wait,” he said.
Evelyn pressed her napkin to her eyes.
Natalie looked around the room she had spent so many days preparing. The candles had burned unevenly. One was sending a thin trail of smoke toward the ceiling.
“What am I supposed to do now?”
Raymond leaned forward.
“You’re not required to settle anything tonight. But you should know what choices you have.”
She waited.
“If you want to leave all of this behind, there will be a generous divorce settlement. The house can be transferred to you. We’ll provide enough income that money won’t dictate your decisions. You could return to art, travel, live elsewhere. You don’t owe this family your continued presence.”
She pictured a different city, a smaller table, her own key in an unfamiliar door. The relief of it was almost dizzying.
Then she pictured telling someone what she did for a living and having no answer again.
Raymond watched her for a moment.
“There’s also work I’d like you to consider.”
“What work?”
“The foundation.”
Natalie looked up.
His sister had overseen the Veylor foundation for twenty years. Natalie knew it chiefly through ceremonial checks and dinners where the beneficiaries were thanked almost as lavishly as the donors.
“It needs a new executive director,” Raymond said. “Someone willing to examine every grant, every program, every assumption. My sister has agreed it’s time for a change.”
“And you want me to help find someone?”
“I’m asking you to take it.”
She sat back. “Raymond, I’ve never run a foundation.”
“You’ve managed this house, difficult people, complicated budgets, and events where a mistake could have cost us important relationships. You’ve done it while being encouraged to believe none of it was work.”
Natalie pressed her lips together.
“I’ve also heard you ask better questions about our charitable commitments than the people paid to administer them,” he continued. “You read what’s put in front of you. You notice what others skip. And there’s a trained mind beneath all this entertaining that my son has been content not to trouble.”
For a few seconds, she couldn’t speak.
“You would have staff,” he said. “A real operating budget. Authority over the programs. You would be expected to produce results, not attend lunches and lend your name.”
“Why would you trust me with it?”
Raymond’s answer came without hesitation.
“You’ve been loyal when it cost you something. I pay attention to that.”
It was still the language of a man evaluating an investment. Yet he was looking at her as though she might actually do the job.
“And if I fail?”
“Then we’ll deal with what failed. That’s part of working.”
Evelyn lifted her head, but said nothing.
“Teresa has made up the large guest room,” Raymond said, rising, “so you won’t have to sleep among his things. His belongings will be out of your bedroom tomorrow. Rest this weekend.”
Natalie remained at the table after they left. Eventually she extinguished the smoking candle, carried her shoes upstairs, and closed the guest-room door.
She slept very little. In the dark, she kept trying to imagine a first day at work. She could picture the building and the elevator. Beyond that, she knew almost nothing.
By morning, the uncertainty no longer seemed like a reason to refuse.
At nine, she called Raymond’s assistant.
“Please tell him I accept the director’s position…”
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