Chapter 7 - The Gathering at Beacon Hill
Despite my refusal, the storm gathered speed with terrifying momentum.
On Thursday morning, two days before the scheduled Newport wedding, Charles called his mother from his Beacon Hill study, his voice frantic.
Phoebe had just submitted a formal request to the family’s estate attorneys demanding that the Stanhope Family Trust be restructured immediately prior to the wedding ceremony—naming her unborn twin daughters as the primary, irrevocable beneficiaries of thirty percent of the hotel chain's voting stock.
Charles, completely blinded by the prospect of fatherhood, had already signed the preliminary authorization forms.
Cordelia realized that talking to Charles over the phone was useless; he was entirely under Phoebe’s control, convinced that his mother was merely trying to delay the wedding out of lingering loyalty to me.
At 2:00 PM, a private private limousine sent by Cordelia arrived at Clara’s residence in Palo Alto.
Inside was a written personal letter from Cordelia, hand-inked on heavy cream cardstock:
Hannah,
You protected my family’s dignity for twelve years when my own son lacked the honor to do so. I do not ask for your forgiveness—I know I do not deserve it. I ask only that you witness the end of the lie you were forced to carry.
Cordelia.
I looked at Clara. She looked at the letter, then at me.
"Are you going?" Clara asked.
"I signed a divorce agreement three days ago," I said, looking out at the California hills. "I took fifty million dollars to walk away."
May you like
"You took fifty million dollars to leave a marriage, Hannah," Clara said, her eyes flashing with sharp intelligence. "You didn't promise to let them burn the truth."
Two hours later, Clara and I walked onto the tarmac at San Jose Airport and boarded the private jet bound for Boston.
