The Inheritance

Chapter 18 — Claire’s Choice

Jack found Claire in her office at nine that night, the desk lamp pooling light over a legal pad covered in her tight, slanting handwriting. She hadn’t gone home. She looked up when he knocked, and for a moment she was just his big sister again, tired and scared.

“Close the door,” she said.

He closed it and sat in the client chair. On the wall behind her hung her law degree, framed. He’d been at her graduation. Howard had given the commencement speech and taken all the credit.

“I’ve been doing research,” Claire said. She tapped the legal pad. “You want the law first, or the family first?”

“The law.”

“Murder has no statute of limitations in New York.” Her voice was flat, reciting. “Arson, three counts of homicide, conspiracy. The DA could charge her tomorrow on that recording alone. It’s clean, Jack. Voluntary statement, no coercion, one-party consent. Any first-year could get it admitted.”

She picked up the legal pad and read from her notes, the way she used to read him her homework when they were kids. “And here’s the rest of it. I’m the family lawyer. Twelve years I’ve represented Evelyn Merritt and Merritt and Sons. That means I’m conflicted out of representing her now — I’d have to withdraw, formally, in writing, from the client I’ve served since I passed the bar. My own mother.” She set the pad down. “The Albany attorney I called today — Daniel Reyes, he does white-collar defense — he’ll take her case. But I can’t stand beside her. The rules don’t allow it, and the rules are the only thing I have left.”

“And the family?”

Claire stood and walked to the window, her arms crossed. Outside, Main Street was dark except for the streetlights, and the hardware store sign buzzed faintly. “Rob called me an hour ago. He wants to bury it.” She held up a hand before Jack could speak. “Let me finish. His argument: the company employs two hundred people. Mother is sixty-five. It was thirty-nine years ago. The Kellers are gone, and nothing brings them back, and all a prosecution does is destroy the living to avenge the dead.” She turned around. “He cried, Jack. I’ve never heard Rob cry. Not at Dad’s funeral. Not ever.”

“That’s his argument,” Jack said. “What’s yours?”

“I don’t know yet.” She came back to the desk but didn’t sit. “I was seven the night the Keller warehouse burned. Do you remember? Dad came home at two in the morning smelling like smoke, and Mother made him strip in the mudroom and burned his clothes in the backyard incinerator. I watched from the stairs. She saw me, and she put her finger to her lips.” Claire’s voice dropped. “I never told anyone. Not in thirty-nine years. I’ve been carrying that, Jack — a seven-year-old’s silence — and I didn’t even know what it was.”

Jack felt the floor tilt under him. “Claire —”

“I’m telling you because you should know who you’re dealing with. I’m not the clean one here. I’ve been complicit since I was seven years old.” She met his eyes. “And I still think we have to turn her in. That’s how sure I am.” “I keep thinking about the withdrawal letter. One page, and twelve years are gone. I keep thinking about my swearing-in — Mother sat in the front row and cried, and afterward she held my face in her hands and said, ‘My daughter, the lawyer,’ like it was the proudest moment of her life.” Claire’s voice frayed. “And all of it, all of it, she was also the woman who typed up the guard rotations for a murder. Both things are true. That’s the problem. Both things are true.”

Jack said nothing. There was nothing to say.

“And here’s the part that scares me.” Claire sat down slowly. “I know about a homicide now. So do you. So does Rob. If we sit on that recording, we’re not innocent bystanders anymore. We’re people who know about three murders and said nothing. Do you know what that does to a law license? To a conscience?” She looked at her degree on the wall. “I took an oath. Not to the family. Not to Mother. To the law. And if I bury this — if I use everything Howard taught me about burying things — then I’m not a lawyer anymore. I’m just another Merritt with a shovel.”

“Claire.” Jack leaned forward. “What if you choose to bury it? What happens then — with me?”

She stared at him. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, if you decide the family comes first — if you decide to sit on it — will you tell me? And will I accept it?” He held her gaze. “Yes. I’ll accept it. Whatever you decide, I’ll stand behind it.”

“Don’t do that,” she whispered. “Don’t hand it to me so you can keep your hands clean.”

“I’m not.” His voice was steady. “Claire, I spent twenty years wanting to burn this family down. I came home with a box of lies because I wanted Howard exposed, and then I wanted Mother exposed, and I told myself it was justice. But sitting in that dining room today, watching Rob —” He stopped. “I’m done wanting that. The truth is home now. What we do with it — that’s yours. Not because I’m clean. Because you’re the one who has to live with the law, and I trust you.”

She looked at him for a long time. Then she picked up her pen, and set it down again, and reached for the phone on her desk. Her hand hovered over it.

“Tomorrow morning,” she said. “I’ll call the district attorney’s office myself. No press, no leaks. We walk in together — you, me, Rob. And Mother comes willingly.” She met his eyes. “And Jack — if she won’t come willingly?”

“What?”

“Then I’ll have her arrested.”