Page 91 of The Honest Affair

Chapter Twenty-Two

Nina

“Oh, Jane, it’s marvelous. It truly is.”

I examined myself in the floor-to-ceiling mirrors Jane had installed on one side of the room, making the space look more like a dance studio than a place for clothing design. The mannequins scattered around the perimeter were the giveaways, along with the enormous table, sewing machine, various bolts of fabric, and stacks of sketches and designs that Jane had been working on for the last several months. Since receiving her admittance into the Fashion Institute of Technology MFA program in March, my cousin-in-law had thrown herself headfirst into her new career.

“All these other fashion twinkies will have spent the last few years as elves in some workshop or another,” she told me when I had found her sketching furiously. “Me, I’ve got a useless law degree and a closet full of homemade clothes. I need to catch up.”

As it happened, I was thrilled for her. Since her abduction last year and the loss of her and Eric’s baby, I had watched them both cycle through multiple stages of grief and frustration, particularly as Calvin’s involvement in John Carson’s schemes became more evident. The fact that they had also been trying for a baby for months without any success made things that much more difficult.

So, when Jane announced her intention to apply to FIT last fall, Eric and I had both encouraged her, culminating with Eric’s announcement of her early acceptance at the Christmas party. It was the most animated I’d seen her since she lost the baby, and it was obvious that Eric was equally thrilled with her progress as she threw herself into her new work.

She also had genuine talent. To the point where I had asked her to design my dress for the MET gala instead of going through one of the couture houses as I would normally. Though Jane alone was serving on the planning committee this year, the family had received its customary invitations, largely because of the donation Eric had made in our grandmother’s name (at my suggestion). This provided an endowment large enough to fund an entire new wing of the Costume Institute, Celeste’s favorite part of the Metropolitan Museum. It had only been possible after the will was finalized with the state and the executor had fully transferred all assets into everyone’s names.

I might have been more satisfied that Calvin had lost his battle in probate court if I had seen a penny of my inheritance. Unfortunately, it seemed another addendum was in the will that had not been read aloud in her office.

* * *

“I’m so sorry, Ms. de Vries,” said Thomas Clark, the lawyer who had been appointed the executor of Celeste’s estate and will. “I simply didn’t think it was important at the time given the fact that you and Mr. Gardner were still married.”

I sat in the middle of the office where my family had just gathered to accept their assorted documents and deeds containing their apportioned shares and inheritances from Celeste’s estate. It was heady business, dividing up a seventeen-billion-dollar empire. The majority of it went to Eric, of course, in his role as the family heir and CEO of De Vries Shipping, as well as primary trustee over the various accounts designated for maintaining the properties Grandmother had bequeathed to other family members.

I, however, had asked to stay behind. Because there was a problem with my own inheritance.

“So, what does it say?” I asked. “That I lose everything in the event of a divorce?”

I was struggling not to shake. Or throw my purse across the room. Just when I believed I was mistaken about all the wrongs I thought Grandmother had committed, this confirmed my worst nightmare—that she really did prefer I stay in a loveless and abusive marriage just to protect the family legacy.

“There’s nothing in here about divorce,” Clark said uneasily. “But there is a stipulation about a legal separation. You were to receive one bequest if you were married to Mr. Gardner. The seventy-five million and your apartment on Lexington Avenue. But there was fine print here that if you and Mr. Gardner separated during probate, your inheritance was to be frozen until your relationship was resolved.”

“And…if we divorced?” I couldn’t believe this. I could not believe this.

The lawyer shook his head. “This document says nothing about divorce. Which in this case has been interpreted by the court to mean…you may receive nothing at all. I’m sorry, Ms. de Vries.”

The shaking increased. I was right. I was right the entire time.

“So you’re saying I’m effectively broke?” I asked. “You do realize that the rest of my personal assets have been frozen as a result of this divorce, do you not? I am currently living on an allowance from my cousin, and the majority of my trust will probably end up going to my ex-husband. I will have nothing if this is true.”

“Mr. de Vries seems to be a generous sort,” said Clark uneasily. “Perhaps you might take this up to him, considering he sits on the board of your trust as well. He may loan you money against it.”

“So I’m supposed to live the rest of my life begging as a poor relation?” I asked. “I cannot believe that is truly what she wanted!”

“Either that, or perhaps you may consider seeking employment.”

“Excuse me?” I asked.

The lawyer tilted his head. It was almost as if he were enjoying this.

“In layman’s terms, perhaps your grandmother wanted you to get a job.”

* * *

“I just don’t know.”

Jane’s voice pulled me out of my daydream—or day-mare, as it were. I couldn’t get the lawyer’s voice out of my mind. Or the despair I felt whenever I thought of the conversation that had taken place last week. Perhaps I wouldn’t have minded if I weren’t qualified for so little. I doubted I could even get a job as a waitress if I wanted. I really did have nothing.

Jane walked in half circles around me, clutching a pincushion in one hand, a notebook in the other, and a pencil in her mouth as she examined me. This year’s theme of “Athens” was somewhat less complex than last year, in my opinion. I expected to see a lot of versions of what I was wearing—toga-like gowns meant to evoke the classic sculptures of Aphrodite and Athena. Mine was ice-blue silk, but Jane had done some truly ingenious embroidery around the hem and over my shoulder with silver thread that sparkled as I moved.

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