“Revoke it?” I ask, confused.
“Yes,” Walt says with a firm nod. “I’ve been working with my lawyers and financial advisers, and we’ve come up with a solution that should work for everyone. The trust, as it stands, has strict parameters about when assets can be accessed—which is why you and I had to marry—but there is wiggle room in terms of revoking it now that I’ve been made the trustee. In normal circumstances, it would be impossible to revoke an irrevocable trust, as the name implies, but these are extraordinary circumstances, and it’s my belief that the trust no longer serves the purpose for which it was intended. Which is what we’ll argue in court.”
All the fancy words don’t seem to make me any less worried.
“Wouldn’t it take the unanimous consent of the beneficiaries to revoke the trust?” Matthew asks.
Walt chuckles under his breath, looking down at his drink. “Not when the beneficiaries have proven to be of unsound mind.”
“My parents?”
His hard gaze meets mine, and I fight the urge to step back. “They’re addicts, Elizabeth, whether or not you choose to see it. They have an addiction to spending money they don’t have.”
“So you’re cutting them off?”
“No, I never said that. I’m creating a new trust, in essence. One I’ll have more control over.”
“That way you two can divorce and go back to living a normal life,” Matthew adds.
“Precisely,” Walt says.
It’s that word—precisely—that seems to vibrate inside of me like a living thing I’ve just accidentally ingested. It fills my stomach, making it cramp with worry.
“When the trust is revoked and dissolved, I’d also like to give you a lump sum, Elizabeth. An amount large enough that you would be able to purchase an apartment in the city outright rather than have to rent.”
A divorce and a lump sum—the answer to all of his problems.
I have no idea why I’m blinking back tears. All I know is I’m grateful I’m standing far enough away from him in the dimly lit library that he can’t tell how much this news is rocking my world.
It seems these are revelations to me and nothing but idle chitchat for Walt, like he only bothered to say it now because Matthew asked about it. There’s no sense of urgency in his voice, no understanding of how intensely each of these statements could change my life.
Matthew laughs and holds out his glass of whiskey to cheers with Walt. “I should have known you’d figure out a way to get yourself out of this mess sooner rather than later. Now, drink up, because I have another reason for why I stopped by.” He turns toward me. “I’ve been trying to get in touch with you guys because Nadiya wanted me to invite you to a show opening for an artist she represents. It’s tonight. Started maybe thirty minutes ago.”
He’s looking at me, expecting a reply.
I’m in a dense fog, too preoccupied with everything Walt just said, and I can barely muster a nod in response. Of course I want to go to the opening. It’s just the sort of thing I like to do normally.
Matthew tips back the rest of his drink. “Good. Then let’s go.”
I cringe down at my loungewear. “Give me ten minutes to throw on some decent clothes.”
“I think you look fine,” Walt adds with a private smile.
I can’t seem to return it before I hurry to my bedroom, already mentally running through my closet of clothes, gripping hold of that task and hoping it’ll tug me away from the conversation we just had in the library.
Stein Gallery is located in Chelsea, right beside the High Line. I haven’t been to the gallery in ages, not since my first year at RISD when I came up to New York to see a collection as a class assignment.
The space is two stories with black grid windows that span from sidewalk to roofline. The oversized industrial front door opens on an axis so that on nights like this, when the weather in New York is playing nice, it can remain open, mixing the indoors and outdoors. The place is packed, invited guests and press spilling out onto the street in front of the modern space.
Walt, Matthew, and I stroll toward the entrance to find Nadiya talking in a group.
Just like the first time I met her, I love her style. Tonight, she’s wearing a cerulean blue headscarf and matching lightweight shirt-dress that has a flattering empire waist. I’ve opted for a slim-fitting cashmere dress that falls mid-thigh. Normally, I wear it with tights, but since it’s warm out, my legs are bare between the hem of my dress and my boots.
Nadiya sees us approaching and extracts herself from her group to greet us.
“I’m so glad you guys could make it,” she says, leaning in and giving us each a hug and kiss on the cheek. “Go in and look around. There are drinks and food, if you all are hungry.” She reaches out to squeeze my hand. “I’ll bring Anya by in a few minutes so I can introduce you two. I think she’d be a good person for you to know.”