Mustafa makes his way to the other side of the massive conference table. He sits in the chair as he would in a throne.
Celik glides into the room a few seconds after Mustafa, a musky cologne trailing behind him. “Hakan Celik,” he says, shaking Orhan’s hand. When his eyes fall upon the black ghost that is Fatma, Celik stops suddenly. He takes in the dark slopes of her shrouded body as if they were the apocalyptic remains of a ravaged society. He stares at her with disgust, as if she has annihilated every modernist tendency he and his like have fought hard for. He clears his throat before assuming his place next to Mustafa.
“Where’s Yilmaz?” he asks, without looking up. He slaps a manila folder on the table.
“He couldn’t make it,” Orhan lies. The truth is Orhan had to beg Yilmaz not to come. The fewer people in the room, the better.
“Good. It’s a simple case anyway. Very cut-and-dry. No need to complicate it.” Celik says it all in one breath. “This will is bogus. You know that. Under Turkish law, the amount of the inheritance depends upon the closeness of the surviving heirs to the deceased. As Kemal’s only son, your father is entitled to the majority of his wealth. The good news is your father wishes for you to stay on as acting president of Tarik Incorporated for now, until he decides otherwise. And if all goes well, the whole estate will eventually be passed on to you at the time of his death. So you see? No harm, no foul. A case of semantics and timing. That’s all it is.”
“And the house?” asks Orhan.
“Naturally, it belongs to your father now.”
“I’m sorry. I can’t accept that.”
Celik fixes his eyes on Orhan. He uses his thumb to twirl the gold ring on his pinkie. “Your grandfather’s will is a sham,” he says. “Yilmaz should have advised him about our inheritance laws.”
“I’m certain Mr. Yilmaz understands the law perfectly well,” says Orhan.
“I don’t really have time for this,” Celik says, closing the file and standing up. “I’ve got a whole roster of cases to get to. We’ll have to resolve this in court.”
Orhan waits to see if the man in bluffing, but Celik storms out faster than he came in.
“I can’t understand you,” Mustafa shouts. “Why must you shit in every pot we own?”
“I’m keeping the company and the house,” says Orhan.
“What?” Mustafa’s face matches the red inkblots in the artwork. “You’re either a madman or an idiot.”
“I will take care of you and Fatma. You don’t have to worry about that. You can stay near me, in one of the apartments in the city,” says Orhan, “but I have other plans for the house.”
“Are you dense? You heard the man. I am his son, his first heir. You have no right. Not until I am dead!”
“What if I told you that you are not who you think you are?” Orhan pronounces the words slowly, enunciating each one separately.
“What are you talking about?”
“You are not Kemal’s son, and I am not his grandson,” Orhan says.
“What the hell is he talking about?” Mustafa asks Fatma. Fatma inhales, sucking in a pouch of black cloth around her mouth.
“We are not legally entitled to any of it,” Orhan continues. “We come from her,” he says, nodding at Fatma.
Mustafa looks from Fatma to Orhan and back again. He leans across the table, grabs Fatma’s headpiece and pulls it off.
Fatma fixes her eyes on him. “It’s true. I’m sorry, Mustafa,” she says. She lowers her eyes and points to her groin area. “You came through here.”
Orhan blushes at her words.
For a moment, Mustafa is frozen in stunned silence.
“I gave birth to you,” says Fatma, “and I mothered you. All these years, that’s what I’ve been doing.”
“You . . .” Mustafa begins but does not continue.
Orhan waits a moment to let his father digest the news. “There’s more,” he says. “Will you tell him, Buyukanne?”
Mustafa looks perplexed by Orhan’s use of the word grandmother.
“Kemal is not your father,” says Fatma. “He and I. We never—”
“I don’t believe you,” Mustafa interrupts.
“It’s true. I’m not sure who your father was exactly,” says Fatma.
“What are you talking about?”
“Fatma did what she had to do to survive,” says Orhan.
Mustafa sits back in his chair. Mouth agape, his eyes dart from Fatma to Orhan and back again.
“You could go ahead with the lawsuit,” Orhan continues, “but I’m sure you understand that I would be compelled to share this new information. It would be most embarrassing, to you and to our whole family.”
“You would admit to being a whore?” Mustafa squints at Fatma.
“God forgives all sins,” says Fatma.
Mustafa stands, giving his chair a dramatic push, but his body is visibly shaken.
Orhan stands too, afraid his father may lose his balance. He reaches for his father’s arm, but Mustafa pushes him away.
“Get away from me,” he says before limping out of the room.
CHAPTER 38
Transformation