Chapter 26
C alling in all the personal favors I can, I pull from every single reserve I have. I draft and redraft until it's somewhere between an article and an essay. It’ll never be an adequate apology but it’s something. Finally, I have a chance to put my writing degree to use.
My mother’s attempt at contacting a few board members proves enlightening. Apparently, the board wasn’t notified of my little jaunt to Italy, business running the same as usual, and the members were under no expectation being CEO was contingent on taking over the grove. Alan proves as difficult the next day with my mother as he does with me;first screening her calls and then having his secretary give my mom half-answers and platitudes.
By the time Alan sends along a scrap of the will, it’s been redacted to hide company information (something I doubt he has the power to do), but he cites “removal from my position” as his reason. Only the page relevant to my part in the clause is readable. Mom’s already dropped it off with her lawyer, Charlie, and he’s filing a motion of discovery, as well as a contest to the will. The will is old—older than we expected—which was a surprise.
When Charlie pushed for access to the will he hit a wall. Even though it’s supposed to be public record and probate was filed (whatever the fuck that is), it’s been filed under seal. The sensitivity of the will and my father’s considerable influence are the excuse but my mother and I both agree: this is suspicious. If Alan truly won—if he gets everything regardless—then why is he even bothering to pester me? Why is the will hidden from us?
So, we gear up to fight. I never thought I’d be doing this when I was ready to walk away from it all. But the thought of Alan getting it pisses me off to no end. I don’t want to win. I just want Alan to lose.
I keep away from the process, preferring to leave it in my mother and the lawyer’s capable hands, because I have a bigger mess to contend with.
Starting with this essay. Pulling it up, I paste the preliminary link into the email. It’ll go live tomorrow but Giuliana deserves a heads up, since I couldn’t give her that last time.
My Italian Summer of Renaissance and Regrets
My reputation precedes me. It affords me a certain amount of privilege and notoriety. I’ve made many missteps in my colorful life as one of New York’s corporate progenies. The opportunity to fade into being a stranger on an olive grove in Puglia, Italy proved too good to resist. This is my recounting of a summer of change and one giant mistake.
Strap in for lies and fake proposals and very, very real love.
The ‘Palmer Playboy’ (as I’ve been dubbed) falls, then crashes and burns.
I scroll through the introduction. The editors still have one more pass before it goes live. It’s not great but it’ll get the point across. For now, I need to get some of this out. I don’t suppose she’ll even open it but hopefully it’ll get some of the press off our backs.
Most have heard the PR story of my father’s start in New York, but his life in Italy has been somewhat of a mystery to me—or was until I ventured back to where he grew up. Grieving my father since his death a year ago hasn’t been easy but getting to know the man he was in his youth put a lot of things into perspective. The biggest takeaway has been how lies and scheming don’t have a happy ending. In trying to follow in my father’s footsteps—to assert myself in business in Italy—I’ve lost the only person I’ve ever really loved. And I’d do it again. I’d lose her again if it means protecting her and her family from men like me and my father:
people who focus on legalities over legacy, financial gain over family.
Alan is going to have a motherfucking field day with this. I wonder if we’ll drop in points again, like when some of my escapades made the papers the last time I was in New York.
If you’ve managed to avoid the pictures online (good for you ‘cause I certainly haven’t), let me get you up to speed. I pretended to be a volunteer on an olive grove in order to gain the intel I needed to manage a takeover. Only, during my weeks and months in Italy, all I managed to do was fall for the enemy: Giuliana. Gorgeous, strong, wonderful Giuliana. The actual owner of the grove. I’ve since released my stake on the land—it belongs squarely to her and her family. But my lies kept building. First was my identity and my reason for being there. But later it stretched as far as staging a fake proposal to help her research avenues to make the grove more profitable. Imagine my surprise to find pictures of that moment splashed across the internet. And her shock when she found out I’ve been nothing but a liar from day one. I fell in love with her family—the way they treated me with kindness and care—the jokes shared around the kitchen table and during long hours working the grove.
I fell in love with her in the quiet moments in between. I can’t make it right, not in the way that counts. So, the best I can do is tell you all about how amazing she is and her plans for the future. I hope you’ll feel inclined to help an incredibly hard-working woman achieve her dreams of honoring her legacy, and providing others with the tools to do the same.
Here goes nothing—one of those favors I asked my friends to help with. I insert some of the pictures I’d taken of the grove. Front and center are the farmhouse’s before and after, and the link to the website I had my friend design. In the email I’m sending Giuliana is the instructions on how to access her website and my friend’s information. Free for her and he’ll do whatever she needs. Formatting will tidy up the rest of the article and make it decent for publication but I’m on borrowed time.
Giuliana’s worked this land her whole life, tradition dictating that she wasn’t supposed to inherit. But despite expectations and societal prejudices, she excels. Her workers are happy, made up of mostly women (after the men on her father’s payroll left when he died) and a breeding ground for a program she hopes to implement with money from a B&B onsite. It’s called agriturismo, and it’s a way to get a feel for Italian farm life while on vacation.
In turn the profits will be going toward a scholarship program for women in agriculture and hands-on mentorship. It will give those women a chance to seize their own destiny in the overly male-dominated agricultural field. It’s impressive and it’s difficult and I’m going to help however I can, even though I’m the last person she wants to hear from. Giuliana deserves success and being featured far more than I do. My notoriety and name have been woefully underutilized. So, I intend to use whatever platform I have left to amplify her voice and the voices of those like her: people who care deeply about community and the betterment of others.
Beneath that lies the other favor I called in: a fundraiser for people who would like to donate—not just to Giuliana but to other female-led farming initiatives in Italy and the United States. Rich people love nothing more than tax breaks and the illusion of philanthropy. But it works in our favor now. These women get what they need and my “friends” get to pat themselves on the back for helping their fellow man—or woman in this case.
Pressing send, my email is loosed into the internet ether and I don’t know if Giuliana will want to open the article before it posts, or if it’ll end up in the trash. But this is something small I could do to atone and make up for my multitude of mistakes. Giuliana deserves more, and I’m going to keep trying to make it up to her in whatever way I can.
I dress for my big meeting with Alan. He expects me to come in and sign my life away. But he doesn’t know my mom is coming, or Charlie. I have no intention of going quietly. If I go down, I’m taking him with me. There are other shareholders capable of running my father’s company, shareholders that aren’t despicable assholes. We’ve been in contact with a few, and Alan’s involvement is looking shadier by the day.
All we need to do is get Alan to admit he’s been lying.
Making the trek up the elevator to his office, I try to ignore the sick lurch in my stomach as the floors dip beneath us. He’ll know by now that I haven’t come alone since the receptionists no doubt recognize my mother.
As for the grizzly old man she’s brought with her, well… he’s not what I expected. Charlie looks like he’d sooner be doing pro bono work than high-level inheritance and family law. But I like him immediately. He’s scruffy with a white beard, kind eyes, and a host of wrinkles beside them. Like a courthouse Santa, only of average girth, and without the sack full of presents.
Alan’s secretary tries to protest when we head straight for the office but my mother levels her with a look I’d hate to be on the receiving end of. I thrust the door open with all the courage I can muster. His eyes dart between us, and I realize I’ve never seen him so nervous.
Alan looked sleazy the last time I saw him—a little questionable. But I’ve never seen him look cowed before. Alan is smaller, lesser than I remember. Or I’m the one that’s changed.
“Matt, nice of you to finally show up. I was worried you might be going back on our agreement.”
“A worry that was well-founded, Alan, since I have no intention of signing anything.”
Settling into the seat directly in front of him, my mother slides into the one beside me.
“Genevieve,” Alan sneers and she scoffs in response, not even bothering with a greeting.
“This is my lawyer, Charlie. He has some questions for you regarding the validity of my father’s will and the supposed clause you keep shoving in my face.”
Charlie might look like Santa but it turns out he’s like a bulldog on a leash—only contained as long as his master commands and then he’s ready to rip into the threat.
“We managed to get a copy of the real will, Mr. Becker. Not only has it not been updated since prior to the divorce of Mr. and Mrs. Palmer, but there is no addendum stating that Matteo is in any danger of losing his inheritance.”
Alan ignores him, staring me down. “Matteo, huh? Really leaning into the lie?”
“It’s not a lie. It’s the truest I’ve ever been to myself. Now, you better start talking or things are going to go very badly for you.” Voice shaking with anger, I’m unable to keep the resentment at bay.
Because of this man and his threats, I was sent down a path that cost me everything I care about. Because of this man I’ve spent the last few months in fear. I will not waver again.
“The will is sealed, the probate not settled. There’s no way you got your hands on it.”
Alan sounds so fucking smug. I want to wipe that little constipated smile off his face. I still don’t know what the fuck a probate is but Charlie assured us it’s all in hand. Alan’s lying through his teeth.
“You underestimate me, and my mother. Unlike the way you conduct your business she hasn’t burned every bridge in this city on her way through.”
Alan swallows hard, the cracks starting to show—ones that will spread and shatter the facade of his threats.
“We compared the redacted document you provided with the bonafide will we received and it appears some changes were made. Unauthorized.” Charlie’s voice is a rough gravel, like Sam Elliot without the drawl. I have no idea where my mom found this guy but he’s fucking great.
Leaning forward, I rest my forearms on the desk as I stare my father’s old lawyer down, taking in the too-smooth skin and the neck that surgery can't hide before I speak. “You know, Alan, fraud is such an ugly word. And in your position, how far you’ve climbed…” I chuckle, sick satisfaction burning through me. “It’s a long way down.”
“I don’t like what you’re insinuating. You’re here to sign stating you understood the repercussions of your actions. Unlike usual you won’t be skating by on good looks and your daddy’s money. It’s time to grow the fuck up.”
“That’s the thing though. I have grown up. And with that came a lot of reflection. Whether I get this money or not is irrelevant to me. All I care about is seeing you rot for the harm you’ve done to me and my family.”
Alan rolls his eyes at me. “Always blaming someone else for your shortcomings. When are you going to face up to the fact that you’re nothing? Without your father’s money and his name, you’re worthless. You haven’t done a single thing of merit in your life and now you never will.”
Rage builds in my chest, my lungs tight with the scream of frustration that I want to loose into his face. He’s wrong. Alan is wrong about me but I can’t give in to my emotions to try and disprove his statement. It’s what he wants and what he’s bargaining on.
“That’s your opinion. One of many that I don’t give a fuck about. Now, show me the will or I walk.”
“You’ve already lost, your threats hold no sway.” He leans back in his chair and crosses his arms over his chest as if he’s reclining somewhere relaxing, unbothered by the scene.
“See, I don’t think that’s true. If I automatically lost everything, why are you so worried about me signing now? Is it because people are starting to question the validity of my signature as of late? We’ve been having some conversations with the rest of Palmer Enterprises and things just aren’t adding up. If I’ve lost, why are the board members and police currently in a meeting discussing your misappropriation of funds? Trying to figure out which documents you’ve forged over the last year?”
And there it is. His eyelid twitches, nostrils flaring despite his attempt at looking casual.
“No, Alan. I think you’ve misunderstood what we’re doing here. It was a chance for you to be open. Honest. To cooperate . That clause is nothing but a piece of paper you invented when my antics threatened your bottom line. You were sick of me getting in your way. Even as my mentor and basically interim-CEO you were tired of having to ask for signatures and beg me to join board meetings. When it became clear I wasn’t going to let you mold me into what you needed, you wanted to get rid of me. What more foolproof way than to have me give up—no one could blame you then. Italy was a distraction to get me out of your way.”
Alan pushes away from his desk, his chair shoved back and spinning into the wall with the force of his movement.
“You’re full of shit. You shouldn’t have any of this. You didn’t earn it. You didn’t spend night after night up here with your father, sacrificing everything for this company.”
Seething, Alan’s chest rises and falls with rapid breaths. His words are spit out like they taste bitter and he needs to expel them off his tongue.
“I didn’t. But that doesn’t change the fact that he still didn’t choose you. Thomas Palmer chose family over business at the end of the day and it kills you. No matter what you do, you’ll never be considered anything but his lackey. The man who did all the dirty work for none of the praise.” I rise from my seat as well, advancing on him.
“He should have updated the fucking will. What kind of self-respecting businessman leaves that sort of thing untouched?” Alan shouts now, backing his way toward the door.
“My father knew he couldn’t trust you with it. Plus, family law is a little outside your purview. Something we’re all glad for now, despite your attempts to fudge things.”
“You can’t prove a damn thing!”
I know he’s made sure of it, or tried. But the forensics people will be on it soon and with the cooperation of the rest of the board it’ll be short work.
“You should have forged my fucking signature again, saved yourself this whole scenario.”
“You’re right,” he says. “I just wanted the satisfaction of seeing your face while you did it.”
Hubris. They say pride goeth before a fall for a reason. It’s Alan’s turn to find it out.
“And now it’s going to cost you everything.”
Alan yanks open the office door and is met by two policemen, biding their time. It took a little convincing for them to let me do my little scene, but they’re getting the arrest we promised. There’s a bit of a scuffle as he resists at first, but once the first cold cuff is slipped around his wrist and the police start reciting his rights, he goes very still.
Alan stares back over his shoulder at me with hatred simmering on his face and I know the victory won’t be all I wanted. Yes, I’ve called him out and proven what an asshole he is. But he knows how to work the system. Even if he sees time, he’ll find a way to whittle it down by cutting a deal with someone.
At least he’ll never be an issue for my family again. Turning back to my mom, she has a small smile on her face and gives me a nod of approval.
“You ever considered law, kid? You’ve got a knack for the dramatics while cutting to the meat of the issue.” Charlie sounds impressed and I try not to let the praise get to me. This was the bare minimum I could do to honor what my father built, and fix the mistakes borne from my neglect and disinterest.
“Nah. I can’t stand being cooped up in an office. Let’s get the hell out of here.”
There will be more discussions about business and how things will be run from now on, but the itch is back and I need to get out of this building before I lose my mind. There’s no voice this time, though. It’s something I’ve failed to notice the past few days since my last session with Dr. Pritchard. The inner asshole has grown quieter and quieter. As if trying to fix things, trying to do what’s right, has finally given it a reason to shut up.
Stepping out of the elevator, our feet slap against the lobby floors. When the automatic doors whoosh open in front of me and hard concrete meets the soles of my shoes, I finally breathe. I’ve never been so happy to be on a fucking sidewalk. It’s over.
Alan has no hold over me anymore.
I’m free.