Chapter 19 - The Thing Worth Saving
The boardroom fell silent when the appraisal reached Gideon. The grand piano was listed separately, its history making it valuable to collectors.
“You can't sell it,” one trustee said. “It's part of the Whitcomb legacy.”
Gideon looked around the table. “My daughter was part of that legacy. We didn't protect her. We can protect what she cared about.”
Alana Brooks and three other former scholarship students had been invited to speak. They described years of lost opportunities without asking anyone to feel sorry for them. Their stories were harder to ignore than the financial charts.
The trustees approved an independent restitution program and a plan to sell enough nonessential property to begin repayment. Prosecutors and civil regulators would still determine what other funds could be recovered.
Briar House would be sold. Gideon asked only that the piano be offered first to a nonprofit music school, with the price credited toward restitution.
“You'll have nowhere to play it,” Amina said.
“Then children who never had a piano can play it.”
Later, Nora brought Ivy to the ballroom one last time before the instrument was moved. It had been cleaned after the fire alarm, and afternoon sunlight crossed the keys.
“Is this because of me?” Ivy asked.
“No,” Gideon said. “It's because adults made choices they need to put right.”
She took her place on the bench. “Can I play Mom's song?”
“Whenever you want.”
She played it slowly. Gideon sat beside her but kept his hands in his lap until she nodded for him to join. They stumbled over the middle, laughed, and started again.
When the final note faded, Ivy asked, “Did she ever forgive you?”
He considered lying. Instead he answered, “I don't know. She wrote that she loved me. That isn't the same thing.”
Ivy leaned against his arm.
“Maybe you can do better with me.”
“I intend to.”
At the doorway, Nora watched them without the old fear that she'd be asked to step aside. Gideon had supported her guardianship, and the legal review had confirmed Lydia's original appointment. She remained Ivy's mother in every way that mattered to the girl.
Amina entered carrying a letter from Alana. The music school had agreed to take the piano, but only if Ivy would play at its reopening.
Ivy stared at the invitation.
“I can play for people who don't know me?” she asked.
“That's what music is for,” Nora said.
May you like
Ivy smiled, then pointed to an empty line on the program.
“Can I put both my mothers' names there?”
