Harry Bain wouldn’t fail.
He had never failed in his life.
‘There’s a trustees meeting next month, Grace, on the twenty-sixth. I think it’s important that you be there. If you can b-b-bear it.’
It had been two weeks since Grace’s return to Manhattan, and John and Caroline Merrivale had invited her over for supper. When she declined the invitation, Caroline drove over to her apartment and frog-marched her into a waiting cab.
Grace looked pained. ‘Can’t you deal with it, John? I won’t understand a word they say anyway. Lenny always handled all the legal things.’
‘You must go, Grace,’ said Caroline. ‘John will be there with you. But you’re the sole beneficiary of Lenny’s estate. There’ll be things you need to approve.’
‘Am I? The sole beneficiary?’
Caroline gave a short, derisory laugh. ‘Of course you are, dear. You were his wife.’
Grace thought, I’m still his wife. We don’t know he’s dead yet. Not for sure. But she didn’t have the energy to fight about it. Grace couldn’t help but notice that Caroline had gotten rather bossy since Lenny…since the accident. Whenever John spoke to Grace, he was firm, but deferential. I really feel so and so. If you can, you should try to do such and such. Caroline was much more autocratic. Do this. Say that.
Still, perhaps that’s what I need right now? God knows I don’t seem able to make any decisions for myself.
Grace agreed to meet the trustees.
It was hard to pinpoint exactly when the change started. Like all these things, it began almost imperceptibly. First the flowers stopped coming. Then the calls. Invitations to lunch or dinner began to dry up. On the one day that Grace tried to make an effort and drag herself out of the apartment – she went to the tennis club for coffee – she noticed many of her old girlfriends avoiding her. Tammy Rees practically broke into a run when she bumped into Grace in the powder room, mumbling the quickest of ‘How are yous’ before scuttling out the door.
Grace tried to talk to her sisters about it, but both Honor and Connie were distracted, distant almost. Neither had time to chat. Grace even called her mother, Holly, a sign of desperation if ever there was one.
It was a mistake.
‘You’re probably imagining it, darling. Why don’t you go on a lovely cruise somewhere? Take your mind off things. I met Roberto on a cruise, you know. One never knows when Cupid might strike.’
A cruise? I won’t set foot on a boat again as long as I live.
The next day, Grace’s platinum Amex card was declined at Bergdorf Goodman. Grace felt herself blushing scarlet as the women in line behind her stared.
‘I think there must be some mistake,’ she said meekly. ‘I have unlimited credit.’
The salesgirl was kind. ‘I’m sure it’s just a mix-up, Mrs Brookstein. But you’d best take it up with American Express. I’ll be happy to keep the bag on hold for you if you’d like.’
I don’t want the stupid bag! I only came here to try to distract myself for five minutes. To forget about Lenny. As if I could ever do that!
‘Thank you, that’s okay. I’ll, er…I’ll go home and sort this out.’
Grace called Amex. A drone told her that Lenny’s account had been ‘terminated.’
‘What do you mean, “terminated”? By whom? I didn’t terminate it.’
‘I’m sorry, ma’am, but I can’t help you. Your husband’s account has been closed.’
Worse was to come. Bills started arriving for unpaid services. An unpleasant man rang the apartment and informed Grace curtly that her mortgage payments were five months in arrears.
‘I’m sorry, sir, but I think you must have me confused with someone else. We don’t have a mortgage.’
‘Mrs Brookstein. It is Mrs Brookstein I’m speaking to, right?’
‘Yes.’
‘The outstanding balance on your mortgage is sixteen million seven hundred and sixty-two thousand dollars and fourteen cents. That’s in your and your husband’s joint names. Would you like me to resend you the statements?’
It wasn’t until Conchita, Grace’s loyal maid, quit over unpaid wages – ‘I’m sorry, Mrs Brookstein. But my ’usband, he won’t let me keep coming here. Not unless you pay me’ – that Grace finally overcame her embarrassment and confessed her money worries to John Merrivale.
‘It’s insanity,’ she sobbed on the phone. ‘Lenny’s worth billions, but suddenly I’m getting all these bills. No one will take my cards. I don’t understand it.’
There was a long silence on the other end of the line.
‘John? Are you there?’
‘I’m here, Gracie. I think perhaps you’d better come over.’
John Merrivale was nervous. Even more nervous than usual. Grace noticed the way he kept scratching at his neck and his eyes rarely met hers. She sat opposite him on the couch in his study as he began to explain.
‘There have been rumors for s-some time now, Grace. Rumors on Wall Street and among our investors. After Lenny…after what happened, the FBI became involved.’
Grace’s eyes widened. ‘The FBI? Why? What sort of rumors?’
‘Lenny was a b-brilliant man. An uncannily shrewd investor. One of the reasons for Quorum’s success is that he never d-divulged his strategy. Like most of the best hedge fund managers, his model was a c-closely guarded secret.’
Grace nodded. ‘He told me it was like inheriting your grandmother’s recipe for spaghetti sauce. Everyone who eats it tries to figure out the secret ingredient, but you can never tell.’
‘Exactly.’ John Merrivale smiled. She really is a child. ‘My job was to raise f-funds for Quorum. With Lenny’s performance, that was easy. We were t-turning away money. It was Lenny’s job to invest those funds. No one – n-not even me – knew exactly where he put the money. Until his disappearance, it had never really mattered.’
‘But afterward?’
‘Despite its size and huge success, Quorum was still f-fundamentally a one-man show. When Lenny disappeared, people w-wanted to withdraw their capital. A lot of people. All at the s-s-same time.’
‘And that was a problem?’
John Merrivale sighed. ‘Yes. A lot of the money is…well, we don’t know where it is exactly. It’s unaccounted for. It’s complicated.’
‘I see.’ Grace thought about this for a few moments. ‘So is that why the FBI is involved? To try to sort out the confusion?’
John’s
