Free And Then Everything Unraveled by Jennifer Sturman

Internet money in Silicon Valley, and a few of the tech billionaires have gone sort of nutty finding ways to spend it, but most people are pretty understated. There are a lot more hybrids than Ferraris, and the same aesthetic tends to apply to houses.
    This, on the other hand, was totally out of sync with “less is more.” I’d known the Truesdales were wealthy, but it was still way beyond what I’d expected.
    “Cozy, isn’t it?” said Charley. “Wait until you see the place in Florida. It has a fountain. With cherubs.”
    “How—?” I started to ask. But even T.K., who believes that every question deserves an answer, doesn’t think it’s polite to talk about money.
    Charley must have guessed what I wanted to know. “It all goes back to the first Reginald Phineas Baxter Truesdale.”
    “What did he do?” I asked.
    Charley parked the car to one side of the drive, slipping it into a narrow slot between a Mercedes and a BMW. “You really want to know?” she asked. “Most Truesdales don’t like to be reminded of the roots of the great Truesdale fortune.”
    “Why? Was he a slave dealer or a bootlegger or something like that? Or—oh my God, was he in the Mafia?”
    She laughed. “That would definitely explain a lot about Patty. No, Reggie One was a coal tycoon in the nineteenth century. He pioneered new ways of strip mining—you know, when you slice off the top of a mountain to get at the coal, rather than going to all the trouble of digging for it? And while he was at it, he also pioneered new ways of abusing his workers.”
    “Oh,” I said, digesting this as we retrieved our overnight bags from the car. “That sounds sort of evil.”
    She gave a wry smile. “We’re descended from a long line of evil people.”
    Suddenly, T.K.’s passion for all of her causes made sense like it never had before. I mean, there’s nothing wrong with trying to help people and save the planet and everything, obviously, but she did get carried away sometimes. Now I wondered if she was also trying to atone for her family’s past.
    A man in a white shirt and dark trousers met us at the front door. At first I thought he was Patience’s husband, but his name was Frederick, and he was sort of like a butler. He offered to show me to my room, but Charley thanked him and said she’d take care of it herself.
    She led me up a polished staircase and down a long hallway. Everything was carefully informal, with lots of cotton fabrics and wicker, but it still managed to look fabulously expensive. “Frederick would’ve put you in a guest room at the other end of the house, but I want you close by for moral support,” said Charley.
    “Will I need moral support?” I asked.
    “You’ll be fine. I’m the one who’ll need help. Now, I thought you might want to stay in your mom’s old room. But only if you want to.”
    She tried to say this casually, but I could tell she was worried that mentioning my mother might upset me. And I wasn’t sure how to play it. How was I supposed to react if I’d “come to terms with everything” and didn’t still think T.K. was alive? Like her room would make me sad? Or like I’d want to stay there, because it would be a point of connection?
    “Um, I guess that sounds good,” I said, deciding to go with ambivalent, which was easy since it was close to what I actually felt.
    The room was a couple of doors down from Charley’s, and she seemed relieved when I didn’t burst into tears on the threshold. “We have fifteen minutes or so to get settled before dinner,” she told me. “I can come get you when it’s time to go downstairs. Or maybe you should come get me? I don’t think I can handle another lecture on punctuality from Patty, and you’re much better at it than I am.” This was true, but onlybecause just about anybody had to be more punctual than Charley.
    After she left, I set my bag on a low upholstered bench next to the window, which looked out on the beach and the ocean