Chapter 19 - Charles Comes Home
Charles served the custodial portion required by his sentence and eventually transitioned to supervised release.
He was sixty-six.
His hair had gone mostly gray.
He no longer owned Fayetteville house.
Civil settlement and divorce with Courtney had forced sale.
Some equity paid lawful obligations.
Some remained his.
Courtney had received her share according to divorce settlement after restitution claims.
Neither became destitute.
Charles rented an apartment outside Syracuse.
No return to Baldwin-Gallagher management.
He still owned ten percent shares.
Passive.
He received distributions subject to remaining obligations.
No board seat.
No officer position.
No trust authority.
No key to my house.
Then he requested contact.
I said no.
A year later, again.
No.
Samuel was nine.
He knew more.
Not all financial detail.
Enough.
“Do you want to see Grandpa Charles?”
“No.”
Immediate.
I did not ask why.
He asked me:
“Do you?”
“No.”
“Then okay.”
Good.
Then Charles sold his final ten percent to the employee/management trust at fair value.
Why?
According to corporate counsel, he wanted liquidity and complete separation.
Ownership after:
Gallagher trust 32.
Me 20.
Employee/management trust 48.
The employees effectively became largest voting bloc, though trust and I together could still influence.
No Charles.
For first time in decades, Baldwin-Gallagher had no Baldwin family member besides me as direct individual shareholder.
I was a Baldwin by birth.
Had kept Gallagher surname professionally and personally because it was Samuel’s and mine.
Charles did not own that either.
Then he sent one letter.
Samantha said:
“You can have me summarize.”
“No.”
I read.
Victoria,
I spent prison telling myself Courtney ruined me.
Then Lucas.
Then Samantha.
Then you.
Good start? At least awareness.
Eventually:
Northstar was my decision.
The forged board consent was my decision.
Using Courtney as you was my decision.
The house deed was my decision.
Going into your house was my decision.
Putting my hands on you was my decision.
I stared.
Then:
I did not intend for your labor to start. I know that does not matter to whether I assaulted you.
Correct.
Then:
I told myself I was preserving my father’s company.
Harold gave you twenty percent because he knew exactly what I was like.
That sentence surprised me.
Charles had read Harold’s letter during discovery.
Then:
I spent my life resenting people who put limits around me.
I called limits disrespect.
Then:
I don't ask to see Samuel.
I don't ask you to forgive me.
I want to know whether someday I may send you one more letter.
I thought.
Then replied through Samantha:
No more letters.
Charles responded:
Understood.
And stopped.
That mattered.
Then Samuel at twelve became curious about Lucas.
Not Charles.
His father.
We opened Lucas’s envelope together.
I had read it years earlier.
Samuel had not.
Tell him his father was terrified of becoming a father.
Samuel laughed.
“He wrote that?”
“Yes.”
Then infant CPR videos.
Peaches.
Baseball.
Be yourself.
Love your mother. But do not make her your whole world either.
Samuel looked at me.
“Dad roasted you from the grave.”
“Yes.”
He smiled.
Then cried.
I held him.
He said:
“I wish I knew him.”
“So do I.”
No lesson fixes that.
Then he asked about the crash.
“Did Grandpa Charles do it?”
“No.”
“How do you know?”
“Police investigated.”
“Could they be wrong?”
“Anyone can be wrong. But there is no evidence Charles caused it, and there is strong evidence it was a weather accident.”
Samuel nodded.
“I’m glad.”
I understood.
It is hard enough to have one family tragedy without turning all tragedies into the same man.
Then he asked:
“Did Grandpa hate Dad?”
“No.”
“How do you know?”
“I think he resented him.”
Different.
“Dad challenged him.”
“Yes.”
“Would Dad have beaten him?”
I laughed.
“Your father once pulled a muscle opening a pickle jar.”
May you like
Samuel laughed too.
Lucas lived a little inside that sound.
