In the hallway, she stopped and looked up at the fluorescent light for a moment, as though she was calculating something.
“Arthur called Gerald this morning,” she said.
“Right after he left your apartment.
I could see it in his face — he was already thinking about what to clean up.”
“It was too late,” I said.
Arthur was arrested at two-seventeen in the afternoon.
I know the exact time because I was sitting at my kitchen table with Grandma when Detective Okafor called to tell me.
“Both Arthur Sterling and Gerald Holt have been taken into custody,” she said.
“Mr.
Holt’s cooperation this morning accelerated the timeline considerably.”
“Holt cooperated?”
“Once he understood the scope of what we had, yes.
He provided documentation on four additional clients.” A pause.
“Your father did not cooperate.”
I looked across the table at Grandma.
She was holding her tea with both hands.
“Is there anything we need to do?” I asked.
“Not today.
I’ll call you tomorrow with the formal charge information.
The property transfer reversal paperwork will be filed by end of week.” Another pause.
“Mr.
Sterling — your grandmother handled herself with remarkable composure today.
Please tell her that.”
I hung up and looked at Grandma.
“They arrested him,” I said.
She set her cup down.
Looked at the table.
Looked at her hands.
“And Gerald?”
“Both of them.”
She nodded slowly.
Once.
“Grandma.
Are you all right?”
She didn’t answer immediately.
Outside, a car passed.
The refrigerator hummed.
“He was three years old,” she said, “when he got lost in a department store.
I was frantic.
I found him in the toy aisle, perfectly calm, playing with a train set on the floor.
He looked up at me and said, ‘I knew you’d find me, Mama.'” She stopped.
“I have been finding him his whole life.”
I didn’t say anything.
“I’m not going to find him this time,” she said.
“I can’t.”
“No.”
She picked her cup back up.
Took a sip.
Set it back down.
“Then I suppose that’s that,” she said.
My phone buzzed.
Wendy.
I answered.
“Ivan.” Her voice was raw.
“Is it true?
They arrested Arthur?”
“Yes.”
“Oh God.” A sound I couldn’t identify.
“Ivan, I didn’t know all of it.
I want you to know that.
I knew about the facility.
I agreed to that because Arthur told me she needed care.
But the money — the accounts — I didn’t know.”
“Wendy —”
“I should have asked more questions.
I know that.
I should have called you months ago.” She was crying now, quietly.
“Can I speak to her?
Can I speak to Eleanor?”
I looked at Grandma.
I held the phone out.
She looked at it for a long moment.
Then she took it.
“Wendy,” she said.
Her voice was even.
Not warm, not cold.
Even.
“I believe you didn’t know all of it.
I do.” A pause.
“But you drove me to that facility.
You told me they had a lovely garden.
You walked me through that door.”
Wendy’s voice came through the phone, small and broken.
I couldn’t make out the words.
“I know,” Grandma said.
“I know.” She listened for another moment.
“We’ll talk.
