One Bossy Offer (110)

Cromwell’s Royal Scandal


Not one, but two previous employees have come forward accusing former Cromwell-Narada chief and Seattle art benefactor Royal Cromwell of sexual harassment during his tenure as CEO. Cromwell, who now resides in an assisted living facility due to neurological deterioration, is expected to face examinations soon to determine his fitness for trial.



Awful.

I don’t know where the truth begins or ends, but either way, Miles must be reeling.

It’s not my problem. But I can’t resist scrolling through the blog’s fine print and— Wait.

It’s a Pacific-Resolute publication?

Of flipping course it is.

But if it’s true, the women have a right to complain and seek justice, and so far there’s nothing to indicate it’s a setup...

“Ah, there you are. Sorry I gave you such a hard time earlier.”

I glance up from my phone to find the old man with the one-room obsession.

“No problem. Did you get settled in?”

“Oh, yes. That view is always one in a million. Like I said, I’ve been coming here for decades. There were times when we looked forward to this place all year.” A whimsical smile crosses his face.

“We?”

He sits on the bench next to me with a rolling sigh.

“My wife and I came to the Pointe every year. Almost since the time we were newlyweds.” He chuckles. “I was broke back then, but she married me anyway, bless her. We couldn’t even afford a proper honeymoon till her friend got us a weekend package at Bee Harbor. We wound up moving to Boise, but we loved it so much we came back every year to revisit our roots, so to speak. Until she got too sick to travel. I lost her a few years ago.”

My heart snags.

“I’m sorry to hear that...”

“Well, I’m just glad the old place is open for business again. Old Lottie’s spirit is still here, no question.”

At least that explains why Gram would have made sure he got his special room. The man was an early customer and a lovebird too.

I don’t notice he’s glancing at my screen until he says, “Reading about Royal Cromwell, huh?”

I nod.

“It’s a damn shame. Call me out of touch, but I don’t believe a word of that junk.”

“You don’t?”

“Nah. I remember the good old days. Royal used to stay here with his wife, too. We met them more than once. About fifteen years ago, we were all holed up here during a mean storm and a power outage. Royal’s room was the only one with a woodburning fireplace. There was a family here with a sick little girl and the place was booked up. He and Colleen gave up their room to keep the kid warm. They spent the night crashing together in the lobby on the sofa. Lottie had that little old couch in those days—the one with the ugly green plaid like pea soup—and his wife liked to stretch out. In the morning when I came down for coffee, I found him on the floor, curled up next to her like a dog.” He shakes his head.

A laugh slips out of me, remembering the old cramped plaid couch he’s talking about.

“Oh, wow. Yeah, Gram didn’t want to give up that old sofa until it was threadbare.”

Grandpa must’ve reupholstered it five times over the years and she just wouldn’t let it go.

“Back in my day, folks didn’t wait to point fingers when a man’s in no condition to defend himself. Not that it ain’t worth looking at with so many bad apples and all, but hell. If Royal was that sort of man, he fooled everybody with the way he always loved Colleen.”

Painful.

Giving up his room for a sick child is consistent with everything else I’ve read about him, too.

At least until this article, but too many older men who looked like saints to the world had the souls of absolute devils.

He could’ve gone through life with two faces.

The nicest guy in the world and the brute.

There’s no reason why both can’t be true.

Miles showed another face I’ll never forget. But why do I still care?

“It’s odd. I just hope the truth comes out eventually for everybody’s sake,” I say neutrally.

“I’m thinking it’s about the son, one way or another, but what do I know? The kid was always just as generous as his folks.”

“You know Miles?” I ask. It’s weird hearing him referred to as a 'kid.'

“A little. We met a couple times, mostly when he was younger and he’d tag along. I’ve always donated to Cromwell charities, and I know he took them over when his old man passed the torch. If these women had a problem, I’m sure the kid would’ve done the right thing in a heartbeat.”

Maybe.

Probably.

But what if they just didn’t feel safe coming forward until they knew he couldn’t retaliate or shut them down before it ever got to a judge?

Then again, I can’t picture Gram hanging out with a man who harassed women. I shake my head.

“I know the feeling. These cases are damn frustrating,” the old man says. “Bet his boy is all knotted up over it. They were always so close.”

“I should check on him,” I say absently.

But as soon as the words are out, I remember why I shouldn’t.

He doesn’t want my help with this.