Joanna simply nodded and fled upstairs to her sitting room, not wanting to be in her son’s way, not daring to let him see how miserable it made her to see him moving out.
But there was no other option. Greg and Paul could not live under the same roof.
After what seemed like hours, the noise stopped. Joanna looked up from the hand-held screen of her cyberbook reader. It was only midday; Greg had taken less than an hour to remove his belongings — and the furniture that she had bought for him.
He can’t leave without saying goodbye, she thought. Should I go out and see him before they drive away?
Then she heard his tap on her door. It hadn’t changed since he’d been a little boy. A single gentle tap. She had always responded to it immediately.
“Come in, Greg,” she called, shutting down the screen and placing the cyberbook reader on the end table beside her.
He looked tense, quivering with suppressed anger. Yet his shirt and slacks were neatly pressed, no perspiration stains. If he had physically helped with the moving, it did not show.
Joanna remained seated in the comfortable armchair as Greg crossed the room toward her.
“Did you get everything?” she asked.
“Yes. I think so.”
“There’s quite a lot of things in the basement. Mostly old toys and school papers.”
He shook his head. “I won’t have room for that. My condo’s too small.”
I’ll keep it all here for you.”
Greg swallowed hard. “I— I suppose it’s time that I moved into a place of my own.”
Smiling as gently as she could, Joanna said, “Greg, dearest, you’ve had a place of your own in New York for quite a while now.”
“I mean… moving out of this house.” His voice almost broke. “My home.”
She held her arms out to him and he dropped to his knees and let her embrace him.
“Oh, Greg, I’m so sorry that things have worked out this way. I didn’t want it to happen like this.”
“I know,” he said, his head on her lap. “It’s not your fault.”
“It’s not anyone’s fault.
“It’s his!” Greg snarled, looking up from his mother’s lap, his eyes red and burning. “He’s done this to us!”
“If you mean Paul—”
“He murdered my father!”
Joanna stroked his midnight hair, trying to soothe him. “Greg, I told you… I was with Paul all that afternoon. I really was.”
Shaking his head stubbornly, Greg insisted, “He didn’t have to do it himself. He could have hired someone.”
“He couldn’t have.”
Greg looked into his mother’s eyes. “You have no idea of how low he really is, do you?”
“Now, Greg, I won’t listen—”
“You think he loves you? He loves the corporation! He loves that stupid Moonbase!”
“He’s my husband,” Joanna said.
“Right Sure. And last night he was in bed with Melissa Hart. Some husband.”
Joanna’s could feel her face flame. “That’s not true!”
“Isn’t it? Do you think it’s a coincidence that Melissa’s been at the Houston and L.A. divisions the same time he’s been there? Is it an accident that they both booked the same hotel in San Francisco?”
Joanna’s breath caught in her chest. She could not answer.
“Why shouldn’t he take his pick of younger women?” Greg went on. “He’s the top dog now, isn’t he? He’s an important man, thanks to you. He can have any woman he wants.”
“You’re lying!”
“Check with the travel office. The two of them have been travelling across the country together. Your black CEO and his black mistress.”
“But I thought Melissa…’ Joanna ran out of words. Her thoughts were tumbling through her head.
“Melissa’s a slut who’ll sleep wherever the power is. You gave Paul the power so she’s gone back to him.”
“No…’ she said weakly.
“He murdered my father and he’ll spit on you now that he’s got what he wants.”
“No,” Joanna repeated desperately. “Paul’s not like that. He isn’t!”
“He’s a cheat and a murderer.”
“No!”
“He is! I know he is! He murdered my father and now he’s cheating on you.”
“But why? Why would he murder your father?”
“To get you!” Greg blurted. “To get control of the corporation. To save his precious Moonbase.”
Trying to drive thoughts of Paul in bed with Melissa out of her mind, Joanna shook her head stubbornly.
“But he already had me, Greg. I loved him and he loved me. We were going to tell your father, sooner or later. I was going to get a divorce.”
“But if you divorced Dad, then Paul could never hope to get control of the corporation. He had Dad murdered so he could make himself CEO.”
Joanna said again, “No, Greg. Paul had no idea that he could become CEO. He was shocked when I told him I was going to nominate him.”
“But—”
“And that was just a few minutes before the board meeting started,” Joanna continued. “You were there. Didn’t you see how stunned he looked?”
“I was there, all right,” Greg growled.
“I know, it was a shock to you, too, dear. But I had to make Paul take over the company. I’m sorry I couldn’t explain it to you beforehand.”
“He forced you into it, didn’t he?”
“No, dear. He didn’t know anything about it until just before the meeting started.”
“You didn’t trust me to run the corporation. You still don’t.”
Patiently, trying her best to mollify her son, Joanna explained, “Greg, dearest, you’re not ready yet.”
I’m twenty-eight years old. Dad wasn’t much older when he took over from his father.”
Joanna remembered. Gregory hadn’t been ready, either. And he never really learned how to make the corporation profitable. Under his direction Masterson Aerospace staggered along from one crisis to another: Until Paul pushed through the development of the Clipperships. That saved us, she thought.
“Greg,” she said to her son, “I know that Brad Arnold has been telling you he thinks you’re capable of running the corporation, but Brad’s merely flattering you.”
“Flattering?”
“Brad thinks that he can control you, and through you control the company. That’s why I had to put Paul in charge. To stop Brad.”
“He couldn’t control me.”
“He’s very clever,” Joanna said. “And much more experienced in this kind of infighting.”
“He could never control me.”
Joanna hesitated. Then she said, “Now that I think of it, the only one who could possibly havte thought he’d benefit from your father’s death is Brad.”
Greg’s body twitched as if a live electric wire had touched him. He looked into his mother’s eyes. “Brad?” he whispered, unbelieving.
“Paul had no idea I’d nominate him,” Joanna repeated slowly, thinking out loud. “But Brad would have known that if your father died, he could make you CEO and run the whole company through you.”
“I told you he couldn’t control me!” Greg snapped.
“Yes, yes, I know,” Joanna said quickly, stroking his hair again. “But Brad thought otherwise, I’m certain.”
For several moments Greg remained still, his head in his mother’s lap, as she stroked him soothingly.
At last he said, “Do you really think Brad murdered my father?”
“No,” Joanna said softly. “I think your father committed suicide.”
But you said—”
“I said that the only one who would have profited from your father’s death was Brad.” Before her son could insist he couldn’t be controlled again, she added, “At least, he was the only one who thought he might have profited.”
“Brad,” Greg breathed.
He stayed there kneeling at his mother’s feet until the butler rang from downstairs to say that the moving men were waiting in their van for Greg to direct them to his new home.
Then he kissed his mother’s cheek and left the house.
Joanna sat alone for most of the afternoon, trying to keep herself from phoning the travel office to see if Greg’s accusation was true. Her son’s voice kept ringing in her ears, half triumphant, half sneering: Why shouldn’t he take his pick of younger women? He’s the top dog now, isn’t he? He’s an important man, thanks to you. He can have any woman he wants.