Chapter 106 - The Interview He Couldn't Finish
Peter Shaw looked convincing until Naomi asked him to describe the kitchen.
They sat in a rented interview room above her newsroom. A camera operator adjusted the light while Peter smoothed his tie for the third time.
“You say Mateo Vega personally arranged the payment,” Naomi began.
“Yes.”
“At his mother’s apartment?”
“That’s right.”
“Describe where you sat.”
Peter glanced toward his attorney.
“It was a kitchen. Table, chairs. I don’t remember the furniture.”
“What did Mrs. Vega serve?”
“Coffee.”
Naomi looked at her notes.
Lucía had saved the messages arranging the visit. In one, Peter had asked whether she could provide tea because coffee aggravated his stomach.
The detail proved little by itself. Memory was imperfect. So were liars.
Naomi asked the next question.
“What date was Mr. Vega present?”
“January seventeenth.”
“During the afternoon?”
“Yes.”
“His employer’s records place him at a supervised materials test outside Albany. Would you like to reconsider the date?”
Peter stopped touching his tie.
His attorney requested a break.
The camera operator stopped recording. Naomi made no promise about what would be broadcast and no offer to protect him from consequences.
In the hallway, Peter called someone three times.
Nobody answered.
When he returned, he asked to speak with his attorney privately.
The interview did not resume.
Naomi contacted June for comment on the documented contradiction. She also told her editor they needed more reporting before airing an accusation that could not survive its first verification.
Earlier that afternoon, Lucía had typed her name into a search engine. She found strangers discussing her character beneath a photograph taken outside the bakery. One had circled the bag of bread in her hand as though groceries proved extravagance. She closed the screen when Mateo entered, too late. He sat beside her without demanding to see. Together they decided which calls her attorney should handle and which friends she wanted to answer herself. When her neighbor knocked with soup, Lucía almost pretended she was out. Then she opened the door. The neighbor asked no questions about money. She asked whether the soup needed more salt, and Lucía finally found something she could answer without feeling examined or accused.
At the brownstone, Mateo was standing over the kitchen sink when Lily relayed the news.
“He changed the date?”
“He stopped the interview.”
“That doesn’t clear my mother.”
“No. It gives us something we can answer with records.”
He nodded, gripping the counter.
Lily waited until he turned toward her.
“I keep hearing what they called her,” he said. “I close my eyes and see that headline.”
“They chose a wound they knew you’d touch.”
“It worked.”
She stepped closer.
“You’re allowed to be hurt without doing what they want next.”
For the first time since the argument, he leaned his forehead against hers.
Upstairs, Sofia woke and began demanding a banana in the emphatic language of a toddler with urgent business.
They laughed, startled by the ordinary interruption.
Lily went to get her.
Mateo stayed beside the sink until his breathing settled.
At Harbor House, Camila reviewed the next payroll run. A lender had delayed access to a credit facility while the publicity intensified. The foundation could meet immediate obligations, but the delay threatened a classroom opening planned for winter.
Caroline arrived with a proposal from Meridian.
“Interim stabilization,” she said.
Camila read the first page.
Operating rights to the lighthouse. Priority claims on corridor revenue. A management committee appointed by the lender.
“Did the board request these terms?”
“They requested options.”
“Then this will be presented as one option, with the costs stated plainly.”
Caroline’s expression hardened.
“You’re acting director. Try acting like one.”
Camila closed the folder.
“I am.”
That night, Peter’s attorney contacted the authorities handling the document tampering complaint. His client wanted to discuss possible cooperation.
Before any meeting could occur, Peter returned to his hotel.
His room had been cleared.
The suitcase, ticket, and envelope containing his final payment were gone.
On the desk sat a photograph of his sister leaving work.
Peter backed into the hallway and called his attorney again.
This time, he did not whisper.
May you like
“I need help,” he said. “And I need you to write down exactly why.”
---
