“The roof was inspected in May,” I said, setting my napkin on my lap. “The contractor said it had at least five years of life left.”
Vivian reached for her wine glass, her manicured fingers steady. “Contractors are notoriously conservative when they want to avoid liability, Emma. A Mercer does not wait for the ceiling to leak before taking action.”
“I agree,” I said, “which is why we have the separate maintenance fund we established last winter.”
Daniel looked down at his plate again, his fork turning a piece of potato over and over.
“It is always better to be liquid,” he muttered.
“We are liquid,” I said. “Our liquid reserves are perfectly matched to our projected liabilities.”
“We have to project our cash flow over a six-month horizon, Daniel,” I said. “Our personal accounts cannot absorb unbudgeted capital improvements without adjusting our tax provisions.”
“It is not unbudgeted if we plan for it now,” Vivian said, gesturing to the maid to clear her plate. “The estate has always prioritized the structural integrity of its assets.”
Vivian smiled, a thin, tight line that did not reach her eyes. “You speak about our home as if it were a distressed manufacturer, Emma. We are talking about our family legacy.”
After Vivian excused herself to the parlor, I left the dining room to retrieve my laptop charger from the kitchen entry.
The hallway floorboards were thick oak, but they always carried the low rumble of voices from the library foyer when the heavy drapes were left open.
“The bank won’t hold the mailing draft,” Daniel whispered. His voice was thin, rising at the end of the sentence. “If she sees the physical ledger, she will ask about the interest adjustment.”
“Then make sure she does not see it,” Vivian replied, her tone sharp and clipped. “She is a guest in this family’s history, Daniel. She does not need to audit the foundation.”
