It did not name Imani. She had asked Adeyemi for that and Adeyemi had agreed and the piece referred to the person who had brought the documentation forward only as a member of the estate’s household staff.
In a city that would spend the next week speculating about who that was, Imani Osei’s name stayed out of it.
Fletcher Voss’s attorneys released a statement at 10:00 a.m. Calling the allegations baseless and politically motivated, which was the statement that attorneys release when they have approximately 4 hours before the situation changes.
At 2:17 p.m., the FBI’s Chicago field office confirmed it had opened an inquiry. At 4:45 p.m., Fletcher Voss was escorted from his River North office building by two federal agents and a woman in a gray suit carrying a briefcase who Imani, watching the news footage on her phone in Reuben’s hospital room, recognized as the specific kind of attorney who appears at the beginning of things rather than the end.
Celestine’s assets, her personal accounts, the Harrow Group LLC that had been incorporated 14 months ago and three properties registered under a Delaware holding company with her as the sole signatory, were frozen by court order at 5:01 p.m.
Her attorneys issued their own statement, longer and more combative than Fletcher’s, full of words like fabricated and orchestrated and targeting.
The statement did not address the forged signatures. It did not address the offshore account.
It did not address the photograph. Imani read the statement. She folded her phone and looked at Reuben.
“Is it over?” He said. “The public part just started.” She said. “The legal part will take a while.”
He nodded. He was quieter than usual today. The particular quiet of someone processing something that was larger than the room they were in.
He’d seen her name not appear in the coverage and he’d understood why. And he’d said nothing about it, which was its own kind of acknowledgement.
“The surgery is scheduled.” He said. “Next Tuesday.” “I know.” “I got the confirmation this morning.”
He looked at his hands. “The trust documentation says it’s from a third-party medical fund, but Mama called the hospital’s billing office.
You know how she is and the billing coordinator let it slip that the fund was set up by an attorney on behalf of a private individual.”
He looked up. “It’s him.” “Isn’t it?” Imani didn’t answer right away. “He’s a billionaire, Reuben.”
She said finally. “To him, it’s a rounding error.” “That’s not what I asked.” She looked at her brother.
She thought about the coffee on a South Side kitchen table and the way Callaway’s hands had held the mug and what his face had done when she’d said, “I’m sorry you’re dealing with that.”
She thought about 48 hours ago in the study when he’d said, “This isn’t most situations.”
