Chapter 23: The Family Table

Portia held the microphone in both hands, and the orchestra did not play a note.

"I am his daughter by adoption," she said. "He told me for twenty-four years that he chose me out of love."

"He chose me because my mother needed someone to hold after Abby was gone."

"I have carried his envelopes since I was eighteen. I never asked what was inside."

"Last week he told me to stand up in a boardroom and say I saw my sister forge a check."

"I did it. I lied, in front of the police, to her face."

She turned to find me in the crowd.

"I'm sorry, Abby. I'll sign anything they put in front of me, tonight."

My father stood in the middle of the floor, with his hand out for the officers' cuffs.

He no longer smiled.

"Lawrence Whitcroft," said the first officer. "You're under arrest for fraud, forgery and conspiracy."

The second officer reached into his breast pocket and took out the gold pen.

My father watched it go.

His fingers stayed curved around nothing.

I had never seen his hands without it.

"You are removed as chairman of this company, effective now," said the old director with the white mustache. "I'll second that. Anyone?"

Two hundred hands went up.

Nobody who had clapped for him an hour ago looked at him as he walked out between the officers.

I stood on the stage with the microphone still in my hand, and my knees began to shake.

Anson was at my elbow before I could sit down.

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