God.
What the hell kind of people do I have lurking in my family tree?
The nefarious kind, that’s who.
No wonder Kingsley’s family hates us so much. After learning the full story, I can’t blame them for it.
“Ever since Gerald disappeared, there has been a rift between the town and the Hawthornes.” Dad’s voice grows weary as if the burden of our family history weighs heavily on him. “I grew up here, Summer. I know exactly what it was like. And your Grandma Rose didn’t help matters.” He concedes by adding, “Now, I’m not saying it was entirely her fault. I think the residents treated her poorly while growing up and that skewed her feelings. After she took over the company and moved into a position of power, she wielded her control with an iron fist. It only made them hate her more.” He rubs his temples with the tips of his fingers. “It’s one reason I left town as soon as I could and never looked back. I didn’t want anything to do with the family business.”
Holy.
Crap.
I have no words.
A heavy silence blankets the room.
“Why would you think a party could fix this?” I shake my head as it continues to spin. Honestly, I don’t know what my parents could do to make the situation better. With the Rothchilds or the residents of Hawthorne who still seem to hate us with the same intensity they did fifty years ago.
His gaze flickers away, almost as if he’s unable to hold my eyes. “We never expected the party to fix everything. It was never meant to be anything more than a baby step in the right direction.”
I’m not even sure if it was that. I snuck out early. It’s always possible that the party ended better than it started. But like he said, it was a baby step. There has to be more to the plan than a cocktail party.
“So what are we going to do? How can we make up for what happened in the past?” I can’t imagine my parents spending the rest of their lives in this godforsaken town if nothing changes. Sadder than that, I can’t blame these people for how they feel about us. The Hawthorne name is stamped on everything.
The company.
The school.
The town.
It’s a constant reminder of what we stole from the Rothchild family and the tyranny that later followed. The whole situation makes me sick to my stomach.
Dad gives me a tight smile. “It’s a relief to hear that you’re willing to help rectify the past mistakes that have been made.”
Is he crazy?
“Of course, I do!” Although I have no idea how we can rebrand the family name. We would have to do something big enough for the entire town to view us in a different light. A better light. Like…give away a certain percentage of our profits every year or set up a foundation that directly benefits the people in town. Maybe create an endowment or a scholarship fund for kids to attend college. Those are definitely ideas to consider, but none seem splashy enough to make an actual difference and turn the tide against our family.
“Since I’ve taken over the business,” Dad says, interrupting my thoughts, “I’ve spent a lot of time going through old family records, trying to piece together all the historical documents so we have an accurate picture of the past.” He waves his hand as he rattles off information. “What the company was worth when Gerald went missing verses what Herbert paid to the family. What were the profit margins each year when it was owned solely by the Hawthornes. Inflation needs to be factored into the equation.” He pauses as his gaze shifts from me to my brother and then back again. “The Rothchilds have been cheated out of hundreds of millions of dollars first from the sale of the company and then in yearly profits.”
My jaw drops.
“There’s no way we can repay that,” Austin grunts.
I have to agree with my brother. I’m no chief financial officer, but even I realize that eighty years of lost profits adds up to be an astronomical amount.
Dad nods. “Unfortunately, you’re right. The interest alone would bankrupt us.”
My head swims with the effort of trying to conceptualize such a number. All this happened because Herbert Hawthorne was a greedy bastard who wanted everything for himself.
“There’s one last piece you need to know about,” Dad continues.
Good Lord, there’s more?
“Apparently Grandma Rose had a coming to Jesus moment before she died.”
My brows furrow in confusion.
A coming to what?
“She decided to make amends for the past. For what her grandfather stole from the Rothchilds.”
Finally, a bit of good news.
“A month before my mother died, she set up a meeting with Keaton and shared all the information she had been privy to. Lawyers were involved, and she wrote out a very detailed account of what her grandfather did and then signed an affidavit so it would stand up in a court of law if that became necessary.”