Jo said, “We do all right. Mark is really good at his job.”
“That’s great.” Charlie waited, looking at Mark as if she expected him to add more.
His mouth was so dry that his lips caught on his teeth when he smiled. “Is there anything else?”
“Nope. Thank you.” Charlie closed her notebook. She capped her pen. She pretended not to notice them both exhale in unison. “I’ll just need you to put what you said in the affidavit, that you won’t ever take any money from the trust.”
They did the look again, their eyes bouncing in their heads.
“A letter, you mean?” Jo’s voice had gone up, too.
“No.” Charlie drank a sip of tea, but only to make them wait. “I’ll need a sworn affidavit from both of you saying that you’ll never receive any money, directly or indirectly, from Flora’s trust.” Charlie smiled. “And of course you’ll need to take the stand in court and say the same thing, which shouldn’t be a problem, right?”
Mark sucked on his bottom lip. “Mm-hm.”
She tightened the screw. “Because that would be perjury, if you said that you weren’t going to take any money from the trust, but then you did.”
“Perjury,” Mark repeated.
“Well.” Jo cleared her throat. “I’m not a lawyer, but as I understand it, Flora will be emancipated.” She smiled weakly at Charlie. “She’ll control the money, not us. She can do with it whatever she likes.”
“Correct, but if you received money, like if she was a tenant, or she paid utilities or helped with the mortgage or groceries or anything like that, then that would be taking money from the trust. Which is why I’m glad you said she wouldn’t be a tenant, because then it might be construed as an inducement to you, as if the only reason you’re taking Flora in is to exploit the money in her trust, and since she is still a juvenile and not yet emancipated, the judge would frown on that kind of arrangement. Which is why we need to make it clear that what you said is the truth: Flora would be like one of your own children. Not a cash cow to bail you out of whatever financial straits you might find yourself in.” Charlie put her notebook in her purse. “Right?”
Mark did another, “Mm-hm.”
Charlie said, “The thing is, the judge would assign a social worker and a trustee to follow up on everything, because taking a child away from her blood relatives, emancipating her as an adult, all with the understanding that she would be looked after by a kind and loving family, is a really big deal. He’d want to make sure that everyone was doing what they’d promised to do. The social worker would make spot checks. The trustee would oversee the outgoing money to make sure everything is above board. And of course everyone would be concerned with the perjury thing, because that can carry a prison sentence of five years and a fine of up to two hundred and fifty thousand dollars.”
“Good-good-good,” Mark said. “Good. To. Know.”
“It is,” Jo chimed in, her lips quivering around a smile. “And I have no problem signing that. Our intention is to not touch a dime in that trust.”
Mark caught on quickly. “Jo’s right. We have every intention of making sure Flora has that money for college.”
They should’ve known better than to try to bullshit a lawyer. “I’m afraid intentions aren’t the same as legally binding agreements. The judge isn’t looking for intentions. He’ll be looking for sworn testimony.”
Jo said, “Well—”
“Obviously, this isn’t about the money,” Mark interrupted. “Flora is very important to us. We couldn’t love her more.” His eyes moved like the carriage on a typewriter. “As you said. Before, I mean. That’s what you said. We couldn’t love her more if we tried.”
Charlie matched his fake grin. “Obviously.”
5
Charlie sat in her parked car outside the near-empty diner, which was mostly chrome and red vinyl in a homage to the fifties. A quick call to the courthouse that she should’ve made this morning had revealed that Mark Patterson was millions of dollars in debt. The Range Rover she had seen parked in the driveway when she left the house was about to be repo’d. The balloon payment on the McMansion was in arrears. He even owed some swank private school down in Roswell so much money that they had turned him over to a collection agency.
Obviously, they wanted Flora for her money. Whether they had worked out an agreement for cash up front or monthly rent or something else untoward was a question that Charlie needed to get answered before she proceeded with any of this.
There were other questions, too.
Flora had said she wanted to get away from her grandparents before they depleted all of the money in her trust. Why go to the trouble of emancipation only to fall into the clutches of two different adults who wanted her money just as badly? Did Flora think she could keep the Pattersons on a tighter leash once she was legally declared an adult?
There was only one way to find out, and that was to ask Flora herself, but Charlie had found herself seized by inertia once she had pulled her car into an empty space in front of the diner.
Why hadn’t Flora been honest with Charlie in the first place? Was she afraid to tell the truth, or was she playing Charlie for a fool?
Through the windows, she watched Flora talking to her last customer. She looked the same as she had this morning: like a perfectly nice, girl-next-door kind of teenager. Earnest. Honest. A bit fragile, but at the same time, also a bit determined.
The girl’s hair was up in a bun. She was wearing a white apron over her blue jeans and the green Girl Scout shirt. Flora’s customer was a lean, beef-jerky-ish old man with a comb-over, the kind of guy who had a lot of boring stories for pretty young girls. Flora seemed game to listen. She smiled and nodded, then nodded and smiled, then carefully slipped the bill onto the table before walking away.
Comb-Over slapped her on the ass.
Charlie gasped.
Flora had obviously handled this before. She grinned, wagging her finger at the dirty old man, before returning to work. He practically drooled as she leaned over to clear plates from a recently vacated booth.
Charlie’s cell phone rang. She recognized Ben’s office number. He had probably found out from the surveillance crew that she had been at the apartments.
She waited for the phone to stop ringing, guilt niggling at her conscience.
When she looked back at the diner, Flora was laughing, her mouth open, eyes closed. There was a second waitress, a girl about Flora’s age, who had likely said something funny. That seemed to be the long and short of the other girl’s contribution to the job. She had made a huge mess of filling up the catsup bottles. There was so much red on her apron that she looked like she’d come straight from a serial murder. Her bleached-blonde hair and the snake tattoo on her forearm weren’t doing her any favors, either.