“Well, so much for that fucking plan…”
“Wilson, don’t. We made mistakes. We were only trying to do what we thought was best for you and Rachel. I’m so sorry,” she said. She began crying again.
Wilson’s anger softened. “It’s not your fault. I grew up with the same damn burden, despite your efforts to shield me. I know you and Dad worried about my anger. And you were right, if I’d known about my great- grandfather when I was younger, it would have made me that much angrier,” Wilson said, pausing to reflect. “Where are Harry’s memoirs now?”
“Only your father knows,” she said. “His father charged him with keeping them safe until they could be put to good use.”
Wilson shook his head in disbelief.
“Now you know what’s been driving your father for so many years” she said, gently touching his arm. “His grandfather’s story had an enormous influence on him. You know that he taught American literature and philosophy at Harvard before starting Fielder Industries. What you don’t know is how he speculated on stocks and futures prior to the crash of 1929 and then acquired troubled business assets during the depression. He considered the windfall profits to be both a blessing and a curse. He promised to preserve the blessing for posterity and avoid the curse by giving back to society, trying to make amends for his enormous gains. The company he started in the early 1930s grew so rapidly he never went back to full-time teaching, although he lectured regularly at Harvard and MIT until he died. I only knew him through your father, and your father only knew him through his father and the memoirs. He died when your father was only three.” She paused, caught in reflection. “Your father and I used to talk about him a lot. We stopped when you were still young.”
“Why? Because of me?”
“No, not entirely,” she said, tears filling her eyes again. “I love your father very much, but I couldn’t live with his obsession. We found great joy in you and Rachel, but we’ve lived in different worlds for most of our lives. I’m ashamed to say that I don’t really know what’s happened at Fielder amp; Company in the past several years.”
“You don’t need to…”
“It’s okay, Wilson,” she said softly. “I was afraid of becoming consumed by his burden so I withdrew to a safe distance. He wanted me to be involved the way I was with his writing, but it wasn’t the same,” she said, dabbing at her eyes with her handkerchief. “I should have never distanced myself. I could have been stronger.”
“Listen to me, Mother,” Wilson said, reaching across the table for her hand, which she took and squeezed for a moment. “When I met with him in his office last summer to talk about Kresge amp; Company, we also talked about marriage. Emily and I had just postponed the wedding. He told me how much he adored you and was looking forward to spending more time with you…living more simply. He actually talked about retirement and writing books. There was a weariness about him. I noticed it, but I didn’t say anything. I should have probed further. Both of us should have been stronger.”
By this time his mother was sobbing. Wilson felt like a heel for making her cry so much, but it didn’t stop him. When she regained composure, he continued, albeit reluctantly.
“Did you know Davis Zollinger, the CEO of Dutton Industries?”
“Yes. He was one of your father’s clients.”
“Did you know he was found dead in his office six months ago?”
“Yes,” she said, nodding her head and dabbing her nose. “Your father said he’d crossed the line, but I wasn’t sure what he meant. I decided a long time ago not to ask too many questions. Whenever I did, your father would tell me more than I wanted to know. I don’t know what to tell you, Wilson,” she said, her voice breaking again.
“Mom, don’t. You’re not to blame.”
“Okay, Wilson. No blame.” She nodded, firmly clutching his hand. “Your father called Davis Zollinger a narrow-minded, greedy man who had turned from friend to foe.”
“Did you know the two women at White Horse were his daughters?”
“No!” she gasped, placing a hand over her mouth. He could see the pain and suffering in her eyes. She dropped her hands to her lap and closed her eyes for several moments.
When she opened them again, Wilson hated himself for continuing, but he did. She had to know.
“Detective Zemke said the two daughters claimed their father was being blackmailed.”
“By who? Your father?” she said in a voice of alarm.
“No,” he said quickly to allay her concern. “He thinks Dad might have been blackmailed too.”
“Was he?” she asked, leaning forward and closer to him.
Wilson agonized over the fear on her face. She had told him everything she knew. “I don’t know, but I’m going to find out.”
“These people are deadly, Wilson,” she exclaimed.
Wilson nodded. “I’m fully aware of that.”
“A few months ago your father told me that one of his partners was being wined and dined by the heirs of those who’d killed his grandfather. I tried to put it out of my mind because the fear consumed me. Now look where we are,” she said with more tears.
“Was that all he said?”
She nodded.
“Which partner?”
“He didn’t say and I didn’t ask. Have you asked Carter Emerson?”
“No, but I will when he comes for dinner on Sunday.”
“Anita and I have made all the arrangements.”
“Great,” he said, realizing that his mother had already retreated back to a safe distance. “Thanks, Mom. I know this hasn’t been easy. And I promise not to do anything before all of us are adequately protected.” He leaned over and put his arms around her.
She lingered in the library for a few more minutes chatting casually, until Wilson had to leave for the airport to pick up Emily. His mother had indeed told him everything she could.
19
Emily — Logan Airport, Boston, MA
Emily landed at Boston’s Logan Airport sixteen minutes late, unable to reach Wilson fast enough. She exited the security section of the airport searching for Wilson. When she found him, their eyes locked just as they had on that first day in Professor Emerson’s class. Deep down, she felt as if they’d always belonged to each other. She couldn’t wait to feel his arms around her. Rushing to each other, they embraced and kissed, oblivious to the crowd of people watching.
She looked stunning in her designer jeans, high-heel boots, teal top, and brown silk jacket. And Wilson immediately told her so. They were a strikingly handsome couple. Once they had retrieved Emily’s luggage, they drove to Brattle House. On the way, Wilson asked her how she was handling what had happened the night before.
She hesitated momentarily and then decided to tell him.
“I didn’t tell you this last night because I didn’t want you to worry or overreact.”
“What?” he said suddenly swerving out of his lane. When he was in control again, he repeated his question. “What didn’t you tell me?”
“I think we should pull over,” she said.
“Oh God,” he said, considering a series of horrible possibilities. He swung over to the Copley Square off ramp and stopped on Newbury Street behind a car miraculously leaving its parking spot. He quickly pulled into the empty space and jammed the gear shift into park. “Okay, what happened?”
“It’s not as bad as you’re thinking. He placed the barrel of his gun under my ear and then ran it along my chin to my other ear. That’s when he said, convince your boyfriend not to do anything stupid.”
“Goddamn bastards. I’m going to rip…”
“Wilson, I’m fine. This is exactly why I didn’t tell you over the phone. I was afraid of you’d overreact.”
“How can you expect me not to overreact?”
