Chapter 7
Three weeks after the wedding, I moved back into my old apartment.
Alone.
The gifts were still stacked in boxes.
Crystal glasses.
Cookware.
Monogrammed towels marked B and F.
Blake and Fiona.
I turned every box toward the wall.
I didn’t throw them away.
I wasn’t ready.
Dad came over carrying takeout.
He still knocked like a man entering a stranger’s home.
“You have a key.”
“I know.”
“Use it.”
“I don’t want to walk in on anything.”
I stared.
“Dad.”
He shrugged.
“I’m being respectful.”
I let him inside.
We ate Chinese food on the floor because my dining table had been moved into storage before the wedding.
Dad looked around.
“Nice.”
“No furniture.”
“Minimalist.”
“Depressing.”
“Expensive people call depressing minimalist.”
I laughed.
He smiled.
That was how we survived.
A little humor around the edges.
His corporate fight intensified.
The board confirmed part of his restored ownership.
Twenty-six point four percent.
Enough to matter.
Not enough to rule alone.
George retained significant equity but remained suspended.
Beverly and Leonard faced criminal investigations involving embezzlement, forged corporate records, and conspiracy.
Leonard was arrested at an airport in Canada.
He had made it farther than Beverly.
Not far enough.
George called Dad almost every day.
At first, Dad ignored him.
Then he answered.
Not because they were friends.
Because the company had thousands of employees.
Dad cared about them.
That surprised George.
It shouldn’t have.
Dad had spent his life around workers.
George had spent his life above them.
Within a month, Dad agreed to serve as interim board chairman.
He refused the chairman’s office.
I learned this during lunch.
“Why?”
“Too big.”
“Dad.”
“It has a couch nobody sits on.”
“That’s your reason?”
He nodded.
“I took the smaller office.”
“Which one?”
“Facilities manager’s old office.”
I stared.
“You control twenty-six percent of the company and work beside maintenance?”
“They have better coffee.”
I gave up.
Fiona called twice that month.
I answered both times.
We did not discuss getting back together.
That helped.
She moved out of her parents’ estate.
Rented a small apartment.
For the first time in her life, she paid her own electricity bill.
She called me one night furious.
“They charge delivery fees.”
I laughed.
“Welcome to adulthood.”
“That is theft.”
“You grew up inside a company accused of actual theft.”
Pause.
“Fair.”
She started therapy.
I didn’t ask her to.
That mattered.
She also wrote Dad a letter.
He didn’t show it to me.
I asked what it said.
“Private.”
“Dad.”
“She apologized.”
“And?”
“And nothing.”
“Do you forgive her?”
He thought.
“I don’t know.”
I nodded.
Same.
Then George asked to meet me.
I almost refused.
Dad said:
“Go.”
“Why?”
“Because you keep staring at your phone whenever his name appears.”
“That means I don’t want to talk.”
“That means you haven’t decided.”
Annoying man.
I met George at a diner.
Not a private club.
His choice.
He looked strange without an entourage.
He ordered coffee.
Didn’t drink it.
“I owe you an apology.”
I waited.
“I treated you badly.”
“That’s broad.”
He almost smiled.
“You’re like your father.”
“People keep saying that.”
He looked down.
“I believed wealth made me superior.”
“That’s closer.”
“I believed your father’s decision to leave the company proved he lacked ambition.”
My anger rose.
“His wife was dying.”
“I know.”
“Did you know then?”
“Yes.”
That mattered.
“You went to the hospital.”
He closed his eyes.
“Yes.”
“And had him sign.”
“Yes.”
I stared.
“Why?”
He answered honestly.
“Because I wanted control.”
There it was.
No excuse.
“I told myself the company needed me.”
“Did it?”
“Maybe.”
He looked at me.
“But I wanted it too much.”
I said nothing.
“Leonard encouraged me.”
“That doesn’t remove your choice.”
“I know.”
Dad’s influence everywhere.
People around us were learning to stop hiding behind explanations.
George continued:
“Years later, I suspected some signatures weren’t right.”
My jaw tightened.
“You did nothing.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because fixing it threatened everything I had.”
I laughed bitterly.
“So you let Dad look like a failure.”
George’s face tightened.
“Yes.”
“You let your wife insult him.”
“Yes.”
“You laughed.”
He lowered his eyes.
“Yes.”
I wanted to hit him.
I didn’t.
Dad had raised me better than George deserved.
“Why are you telling me?”
“Because Fiona asked me whether I wanted to die as the man I became.”
That sounded like her.
The new version.
“What did you say?”
“I told her I didn’t know who else to be.”
“And?”
“She said learn.”
I almost smiled.
Apparently she remembered our conversation.
George looked at me.
“She loves you.”
“I know.”
“You love her.”
“I know.”
“I’m not asking you to take her back.”
“Good.”
“I’m asking you not to punish her for my failures.”
My expression hardened.
“She has her own.”
He nodded immediately.
“Yes.”
That surprised me.
“She laughed.”
His voice lowered.
“I taught her that.”
I looked at him.
“Beverly taught her fear.”
“And you taught her surrender.”
He flinched.
“Yes.”
For the first time, I felt something other than anger toward George.
Not forgiveness.
Pity.
Maybe.
Then he slid an envelope toward me.
“What is this?”
“Something your father doesn’t know I have.”
I froze.
I opened it.
An old photograph.
Dad and Mom.
Young.
Standing beside George.
A fourth person beside them.
A woman I didn’t recognize.
On the back:
Thomas, Anna, George, Evelyn.
Summer 1994.
“Who is Evelyn?”
George stared at his coffee.
“My sister.”
“What happened to her?”
“She died.”
I waited.
He continued.
“Before the company became successful.”
“How?”
“Job-site accident.”
Dad never mentioned her.
“Why does this matter?”
George’s expression changed.
“Because Thomas blamed himself.”
My chest tightened.
“For what?”
“She was working a site he supervised.”
I stared.
George continued:
“A support collapsed.”
“Was it his fault?”
“No.”
“Then why?”
“Thomas signed the inspection report.”
My heart sank.
“Was the structure unsafe?”
“Not when he inspected it.”
“Then what happened?”
George looked away.
“Someone changed the materials afterward.”
“Who?”
He met my eyes.
“Leonard’s father.”
My body went cold.
George continued:
“He was our supplier.”
I stared at the photo.
“Dad knew?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Because I hid it.”
I slowly looked up.
“What?”
“I found out years later.”
“Why didn’t you tell him?”
George’s face crumpled.
“Because by then, Leonard was my attorney.”
I stood.
“You let my father carry guilt for almost thirty years.”
“I know.”
I grabbed the photograph.
“Why tell me now?”
George whispered:
“Because he deserves the truth.”
I walked out.
I called Dad from the parking lot.
No answer.
Again.
No answer.
Then Elena called me.
Her voice was urgent.
“Blake.”
“What?”
“Your father collapsed during the board meeting.”
Everything inside me stopped.
“What happened?”
“We’re at St. Vincent’s.”
May you like
I dropped George’s envelope.
Then I ran.
