Chapter 22: The Note Burns

"That is a Trust instrument," Linwood said.

His voice had lost its ruler-straight part somewhere.

"It's a Trust instrument signed by a chairman whose books I've just read aloud," said Rainer.

"Two trustees and I are a quorum, and we find it satisfied in full by the tender of December first."

"Satisfied," said one of the older men behind him, in a thin voice.

"Satisfied," said the other.

"Rainer," Linwood said. "Rainer, I am your father."

"Yes," said Rainer. "I've read what that cost."

He set the six pages on the silver tray.

He struck the match on the underside of the lectern.

The note caught at the corner, and the Trust's seal curled and blackened.

The flame climbed the staples and ran along the edge of page one.

Three hundred people watched it burn in a ballroom so silent I could hear the paper.

My father had stopped clapping.

He took off his cap and held it against his chest.

When the last page had folded to grey ash, Rainer tipped the tray over the carpet.

The ash fell in a soft line at his father's feet.

"The Pascoe wharf is free and clear," he said into the microphone.

"The writ is void."

"The chairman's private books go to the county today."

"Every family in this room gets a copy."

He took an envelope from his coat and read the date aloud.

"This is my resignation as trustee, effective at noon."

"I decline the chair, the house and the will."

He laid it on the lectern.

The clock over the double doors began to strike twelve.

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