Tom Dolby - The Trust

Nick had noticed his father flinch when Patch entered the room and his mother whisper something to his father.

Oh, God, Nick thought, here it comes.

Aldon Story, the Bell family lawyer, started by reading through what seemed like an interminable list of assets. There were all of Palmer’s investments, including businesses and real estate that Nick had never even known about.

Finally, they got to the financial assets. Parker Bell was stoic, but Nick could see Henry and Benjamin shifting in their seats. Nick’s mother, Gigi, kept wetting her lips. Eleanor whispered something to Philip.

Sharks circling around a bleeding carcass, Nick thought. They had all known this day would come; some of them might have already been aware of their inheritance. And yet still, there was a finality in having it all read aloud.

Parker and Georgiana Bell would be receiving a significant amount, as would Philip and Eleanor, well over a quarter of a billion dollars. Then the lawyer began to read off the list of grandchildren: Maggie, Caroline, Nick, Ben, and Henry.

Each of them would be the beneficiary of a trust valued at thirty million dollars. For the three boys, the trustee, until they reached the age of twenty-five, would be their father, Parker Bell. From what Nick understood about trusts, this meant that his father could give each beneficiary access to each trust at his discretion.

As expected, the remainder of Palmer Bell’s estate would go to the Bradford Trust, to be used for whatever endeavors, charitable and otherwise, that it saw fit.

Nick’s shoulders relaxed and then tightened again. It was good news-wonderful news, actually-that the trust was so generous, but it wasn’t exactly good news that his father would remain the trustee for so long.

Mr. Story cleared his throat. “There is one more beneficiary in Mr. Bell’s will.”

Everyone looked around in confusion. Was there someone who had been missed? A long lost cousin whom Palmer had decided to include?

“I believe he is here today,” Mr. Story said. “The last beneficiary is Patchfield Evans the third, Palmer Bell’s grandson.”

Nick sat back in his seat, simultaneously stunned and fascinated at this development. This confirmed what he had known. Confirmed the truth he had been hiding from his friend for the past two months, the truth Nick had tried to ignore.

This would change everything.

Did his father know Patch was to be a part of the will? Would Patch himself have any clue about what this meant?

Nick looked over to Patch, who was still sitting at the edge of the room, awestruck.

Nick’s brothers were even more perplexed.

“What-Mr. Story, what does this mean?” Henry asked. “How is Patch related-”

“Henry, settle down!” Parker Bell said.

The lawyer spoke. “I believe it will all become clear soon,” he said. “As for each of your trusts, you should contact our office individually to make arrangements regarding its disbursement. There are certain parameters that have been put in place, which your specific trustee-in each case, the father in each family-can change at any time. We will discuss how that works individually with each one of you.”

“But what about…” Ben asked, his voice trailing off.

“Ben, Henry, Nick, I’ll discuss it with you at home,” Parker said.

Patch looked as if he might be ill. He made a motion to Nick that they should leave, and Nick nodded to him, getting up. Nick had no idea how he was going to explain the little that he knew.

“Nicholas, where are you going? We’re not finished yet!” Parker Bell said.

“I think we’re finished, Dad. I’ll see you back at home.”

Nick pushed open the door to the conference room, and Patch followed him.

Once they were out on the sidewalk, the chilly air was like a wake-up call.

“What just happened there?” Patch said.

“Well, you’re thirty million dollars richer,” Nick said, laughing.

“Wow, um, okay-it may take me a few days to process this. And what’s this about your father being the trustee?”

“That’s just the way trusts work. Until we turn twenty-five. They don’t want you to blow the whole thing.”

“But more importantly,” Patch said, “why? What did I do to deserve this? Your grandfather never really cared for me, as far as I could tell. I don’t even know if your father likes me. The lawyer said I was a grandchild of Palmer’s. How could that be the case?”

Nick thought back to everything he knew. He decided to speak carefully.

“Is it possible,” Nick said, “that your father, Patch, Jr., wasn’t really your father?”

“Then who was my father?”

Nick paused before answering. “My dad?”

The two of them stood in stunned silence on the sidewalk as people passed them, cars honked, everyone went about their daily life on a mid-morning in February.

“So that makes us… brothers?” Nick asked.

“Half brothers, to be precise,” Patch said. “So my mother and your father-our father-had a-I don’t know, an affair of some kind?” Patch seemed truly confounded by the news.

Nick stood there with Patch for a moment, in amazement that this moment had finally come. He wiped away a tear from his eye and then put one arm around Patch, squeezing him tightly.

“Come on,” Nick said. “Let’s get out of the cold.”

They decided on the bar at the Algonquin Hotel, which was a slightly shopworn, pretzels-and-peanuts kind of place with leather banquettes and sketches of Broadway shows on its wood-paneled walls. Nick said he had agreed to meet up with Phoebe after the reading of the will, and he texted her their location. The bar was open for lunch, and they pretended that they were there to eat, but neither Patch nor Nick expressed much interest in food. Nick ordered some fries for the table and three Cokes.

Phoebe arrived a moment later. She looked at Nick, then at Patch. “What’s going on here?”

“We’ll explain in a second,” Nick said.

“I might need something stronger,” Patch said, only half-joking as he motioned to his Coke. He was still in shock from the news and wasn’t really sure how to process it. “Can I get a dirty martini?” he mock called to the waitress.

“Hold on there, Lost Weekend, let’s keep our heads on, okay?” Nick said.

Nick explained to Phoebe, as quickly as he could, what had been revealed. Phoebe nodded in amazement.

“I should call Genie,” Patch said, interrupting Nick’s story. “I don’t know if I can reach her, though.” Genie was in the Catskills with a friend for a few days, at an old mountain retreat where she could curl up by the fireplace, play backgammon, and read paperback mysteries. She had decided she needed to get out of town after all the excitement of Palmer’s death and the necklace heist. The problem was that this made her annoyingly unreachable. “She never has her phone turned on, unless it’s in the charger,” Patch said. “It has somehow escaped her that the purpose of a cell phone is to keep it with you.”

He tried her, but it went directly to voice mail. She wouldn’t be returning home until the weekend.

Patch decided he would call the next best person who might be able to explain it to him. His mother’s number at the hospital was programmed into his phone, and he dialed it. It was a snap decision to call her, and as he heard the line ringing, he started to think better of it. What would he say to her? Was this really a conversation he wanted to have in front of Nick and Phoebe? A nurse answered the main line at the Stoney River Psychiatric Hospital in Ossining, and he asked for his mom. After a moment, the nurse said she was unavailable, but they would give her the message. He was almost relieved she hadn’t been there.