Chapter 14: The Offer in Brookline

My grandfather received me in the library, where he had received every Vaughan who had ever disappointed him.

He sat in the wing chair by the fire with his cane across his knees.

A tray of tea stood untouched on the table beside him.

"Shut the door," he said.

I shut it.

"Fiona telephoned me an hour ago. She was crying so hard I could barely follow her."

"I'm sure she was."

"She says you accused her of stealing a letter."

"I did not accuse her of anything. She told me herself."

He was silent.

I took the envelope out of my coat and laid it on the tea tray, with my name toward him.

"Read it," I said. "You told me he left me nothing."

He didn't touch it for a long moment.

Then he took a pair of glasses from his breast pocket and unfolded the page with hands that shook only a little.

I watched his eyes move down it.

I watched them stop, near the bottom, and go back up to a line and read it again.

He put the page on his knee.

"My son wrote this," he said.

"Yes."

"In his own hand."

"You know his hand."

"I taught it to him." He took off the glasses. "I did not know this existed, Imogen. I want you to hear me say it."

I had come ready to hear him lie, and that was harder.

"I believe you."

"Good." He cleared his throat. "That changes nothing about what I have to say to you."

"I thought it might not."

"Sit down."

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