Oliver blinked, clearly not expecting this question. "There's no need for that, Mom. I've handled everything. You just need to sign the acknowledgement of payment, and then you can focus on adjusting to your new circumstances."
My new circumstances. Widowhood, apparent poverty, exclusion from the company that had been as much a part of my identity as my marriage. How considerate of my son to manage it all so efficiently, just 3 days after we laid his father in the ground. "$10,000 won't go very far," I observed mildly. "The property taxes on this house alone are nearly that much annually."
A flicker of something, annoyance, concern, crossed Oliver's face before his expression settled back into sympathetic efficiency. "We'll discuss your living arrangements soon. The estate is complicated. For now, this payment will help with immediate expenses."
I nodded slowly, as if considering his words. "And the company valuation? 13 million seems rather low considering the defense contracts Richard secured last year." Oliver's eyes narrowed slightly.
"Mom, with all due respect, you've never been involved in the business side of things. The valuation reflects current market conditions and certain liabilities that have developed recently." There it was, the dismissal I'd anticipated. Poor, uninvolved Amelia, the corporate wife who arranged dinner parties and charity functions while the men handled the important matters.
How little they knew. "Of course," I conceded, rising from the chair with the dignity that had become my armor over decades of being underestimated. "You're right, business was always your father's domain, not mine." Relief visibly washed over Oliver's features.
He'd been prepared for tears, perhaps, or confused questions, not this calm acceptance. "I'm glad you understand, Mom. This is best for everyone. The check will be deposited directly into your account tomorrow."
"How convenient." I moved toward the door, signaling our conversation was ending on my terms, not his. "And Oliver, who exactly is behind Monarch Holdings? I'd at least like to know who owns your father's legacy now."
"It's a private investment consortium," he replied, the practiced answer of someone who had anticipated this question. "Very discreet, very professional. Their managing director is someone named Elizabeth Windsor, British, I believe." I couldn't help the small smile that tugged at the corners of my mouth.
"Elizabeth Windsor? How interesting." "You've heard of her?" Oliver asked, sudden wariness creeping into his voice.
"The name sounds vaguely familiar," I replied, my hand on the doorknob now. "Thank you for handling everything, Oliver. You've always been so efficient." After he left, I returned to Richard's desk and unlocked the hidden drawer only he and I knew about, removing a slim leather portfolio.
Inside was a complete dossier on Monarch Holdings, including its incorporation documents, tax filings, and the name of its sole shareholder, Amelia Elizabeth Blackwood. My maiden name had been Windsor. I traced the elegant letterhead with fingers that no longer trembled. The company I'd secretly established 6 months ago when Richard first shared his suspicions about our son's financial manipulations.
The company that had just purchased Bradford Precision Technologies for a fraction of its worth thanks to the falsified valuation documents Oliver had so helpfully provided to the buyer's representatives. The phone rang, startling me from my thoughts. My husband's long-time attorney, Jonathan Mercer, was calling exactly on schedule. "Is it done?" he asked without preamble.