Questings

A moment of silence. “Just the way she forged all those must-leave-school notes,” he said to no one. “Now every employee thinks I’ve been a sleazy operator.” Frank turned to the window to see the sun coming up between two high-rise buildings, leaving the river below it, the river of his joy and his grief. “Unacceptable outcome,” he said to the sun, “but easy to avoid.” Frank calmed down as he outlined his next steps. “Hire a forensics lab to prove the ink has been out of the pen for hours, not years. Hire a handwriting expert to prove that the notations are in Reb’s handwriting, no matter how well forged. Get an affidavit from my secretary that she saw Reb in the office yesterday afternoon. Write up a report of the whole thing. Get my lawyer to validate it. Put it out to the staff to incriminate Reb. Voila, I’m off the hook. My staff realizes that I’m the innocent victim of a hoax. I keep my reputation. Grant International continues untarnished. Justice is done.” He walked to the window, the one facing east. “Easy,” he said. “I’ll call a meeting and tell everyone what happened and how I’ll prove it.” A warm sensation of self-congratulation washed through Frank’s mind as he contemplated how, once again, he had cracked a tough complexity through clear thinking. “Easy. A nuisance, but easy.” He glanced again at the sun between the high rises, those two symbols, for him, of a truism: two sides to every question. He squinted to see the river under the bright sun. “Why?” He squinted yet more. “Why did Reb do this thing? And why, why so easy to figure out? Like she wants me to know she did it to me. Why?” Warm self-congratulation became vague, chilly unease, then troubling doubt. Frank Grant had not made millions through thinking that ignored relevant factors. Frank sensed a trap just ahead on the path he was planning, this too-easy path that Reb’s actions invited him to take. Reb’s motives had a relevance here, but what? Frank realized that he must get inside her head to find the trap. “Well,” he said aloud, “I’ll just call my daughter and ask her.” He laughed, an ironic laugh. “Well, not.” More pondering. “But,” said he, “I can call someone who will talk and who might know.” He called Nonnie. He briefed her on what had happened. He told her that he had concluded that Reb had schemed to wreck his reputation, destroy his livelihood, and force him out of Grant International. “Why, Nonnie, why would she do this?” “Revenge.” Frank gasped. “Frank, take a deep breath and hear me out. You and Lilly-Belle damaged that child. Lilly-Belle smothered her with over-protective love and you alternately neglected her, gave her far more than she needed or wanted, disrespected her, and bossed her. The apex of these insults came when you protracted Lilly-Belle’s dying. Between the two of you, you pretty much guaranteed she would not mature. Now she’s like a small child having a tantrum. She thinks she can rectify her grievances against you by destroying you.” Frank was sputtering. Nonnie said, “Now don’t have another cardiac. You called me for something. Was it breast-feeding, or Pablum? Or truth?” Frank had to laugh. “Thanks, you old marsh rat.” “No charge. Next: why do you suppose our bright young Reb made it so easy for you to figure out that she has done this thing?” “She did?” “Well, how long did it take you to see through this amateur night?” “Not long.” “You think this is the best Reb could do?” “Dunno. She’s upset, angry, hasty.” “No doubt. But what if she made this deliberately transparent?” “Say what?” “Think, Frank. What’s in it for Reb if you know she did this thing to you?” “I don’t know, Nonnie.” “Well, make it your business to know. You’ve told the world for years that you know everything else. Go figure it out. Shed your self-interest long enough to look through someone else’s eyes. And call me when you have an answer in terms other than ‘what’s in it for Frank.’” The line went dead. . . .