Chapter 22
Benjamin’s face reddened.
“I thought I could buy time.
I thought the business would recover before anyone acted on the documents.”
I felt the old ache rise in my chest.
“Did you think about what would happen to me if the lender believed you?”
He looked at me.
“I didn’t think you’d lose the house.”
“You thought I might move into assisted living.
You thought the house might become available.
You told a creditor that I was simply occupying it.”
“I was desperate.”
“So was I, Benjamin.
I was lonely after your father died.
I was frightened about growing old.
I was trying to help my son.
I was desperate to believe that the money I gave you was making your life better.”
My voice trembled, but I continued.
“Yet I never used your fear to take something from you.”
He began to cry.
I had seen Benjamin cry as a child, as a teenager, and at his father’s funeral.
His tears had always moved me.
This time, they did not erase what he had done.
“I am sorry,” he said.
I believed that he was sorry.
I simply did not know whether he was sorry for risking my home or for being caught doing it.
“Did you give the lender the draft?”
I asked.
“Yes.”
“Where did you get it?”
He looked at Richard on the screen.
“From an old folder in Dad’s study.
It was among the estate papers.”
Richard frowned.
“That draft was never distributed to the family.
I kept the original.
The copy you received must have come from the estate records you obtained after Thomas’s death.”
Benjamin nodded.
“I found it when I was looking for the will.”
“Why did you keep it?”
I asked.
“I thought it might matter someday.”
“Someday when I died?”
He flinched.
“I didn’t mean it like that.”
“Then what did you mean?”
He could not answer.
Genevieve suddenly stood.
“I had no idea he had sent that email.”
Benjamin looked up at her.
“Genevieve—”
“No.
You told me the lender was considering a restructuring plan.
You said the house was only being discussed as part of the long-term family estate.”
“I was trying to protect us.”
“By putting Eleanor’s home at risk?”
He looked at her helplessly.
She turned toward me.
“Eleanor, I swear I didn’t know he had represented the house that way.”
I studied her face.
I had spent years assuming that Genevieve was the source of every problem between us.