Chương 7
“I’m not firing you.”
“That promise lasts until you’re angry.”
Adrian looked away.
Blackthorn pulled hay from the rack and chewed slowly.
“You told the investigators about the ribbon?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“They never asked.”
“They asked what was different about the horse.”
“I said he was agitated.”
“You knew the ribbon belonged to Claire.”
“I knew it looked like hers.”
“That mattered.”
“Maybe.”
“It obviously mattered.”
“Tonight it does.”
Adrian faced him.
Mateo lifted one shoulder.
“The morning she disappeared, everybody thought the horse had thrown her. You were screaming at the county people to search the ravine. The ribbon was under his mane. It didn’t tell me where she went.”
“You should have said something.”
“Yes.”
The agreement removed Adrian’s next argument.
Mateo looked toward Blackthorn.
“I also thought she might come back.”
“Why?”
“She always came back before.”
“Before what?”
“After you two fought.”
Adrian stared.
“How often did she leave?”
Mateo winced.
“Not leave-leave.”
“How often?”
“She slept in the apartment over the feed room a few times.”
Adrian felt suddenly tired.
“She told me she stayed with friends.”
“Maybe sometimes.”
“You let her stay here?”
“She was twenty-two.”
“That keeps coming up.”
“It matters.”
Adrian laughed without humor.
“Yes. Apparently.”
By sunrise, video from the gala had spread online.
Adrian’s communications director called at six seventeen.
“There are three clips over a million views.”
Adrian stood in the stable aisle watching Blackthorn drink.
“Of course there are.”
“The line about your daughter is everywhere.”
“Which line?”
A pause.
“All of them.”
Adrian rubbed his face.
“Do we have a statement?”
“We need one from you.”
“No.”
“We absolutely need—”
“Then say we’re dealing with a private family matter.”
“We can ask guests not to share footage.”
“Bit late.”
“Yes.”
“What about Lily?”
Another pause.
“What about her?”
“No name. No photographs. Nothing from us.”
“Some guests already posted her.”
“Get legal to contact the outlets.”
“On what grounds?”
Adrian opened his mouth.
Closed it.
The communications director waited.
“Ask,” Adrian said finally. “Don’t threaten.”
Another pause.
“All right.”
Adrian heard the difference.
People noticed when he did not threaten.
He disliked that they noticed.
At seven thirty he drove to June Hart’s apartment.
He had the address because his office found it.
Halfway there he realized that was exactly the problem.
He pulled into a grocery store parking lot instead.
For several minutes he watched people carrying coffee and bags of ice toward their cars.
A man in work boots argued with a vending machine outside the store.
A woman folded a receipt into increasingly smaller squares while talking on her phone.
Adrian called June.
She did not answer.
He left no message.
Ten minutes later she called back.
“What?”
“Good morning.”
“It is not.”
“No.”
Silence.
Adrian looked at the address on the screen.
“I’m not coming to your apartment.”
June was quiet.
“You were going to?”
“Yes.”
“Of course.”
“I stopped.”
“Congratulations.”
He let that pass.
“I want to apologize to Lily.”
“For what part?”
“For questioning her like that.”
“That would be a start.”
“And I need to ask you something.”
“No.”
“I haven’t asked yet.”
“I’m trying something new.”
Despite himself, Adrian smiled.
June heard it.
“Don’t.”
“I didn’t say anything.”
“You made that rich-person amused noise.”
“I don’t know what that means.”
“Yes, you do.”
Adrian looked through the windshield.
“Victoria says Claire was alive in March.”
June said nothing.
“Did you know?”
“Yes.”
His hand tightened around the phone.
He forced it loose.
“Do you know where she is?”
“I’m not answering that.”
“That means you do.”
“No. It means I’m not answering.”
“June.”
“Adrian.”
He shut his eyes.
“I’m trying very hard not to be the person everybody apparently spent a year hiding from.”
The silence on the other end changed.
When June spoke again, her voice was less sharp.
“Then try harder.”
He nodded although she could not see him.
“What can I do?”
“You can leave Lily alone today.”
“That’s all?”
“That’s what you can do today.”
“I need to know whether Claire is alive.”
“I understand.”
“No, you don’t.”
June’s voice softened.
“I watched my daughter wake up crying because she thought keeping Claire’s secret made her disappear. I understand more than you think.”
Adrian swallowed.
“Tell Lily it wasn’t her fault.”
“I have.”
“Tell her I said it.”
“I will.”
June hung up.
Adrian sat in the parking lot until his coffee went cold.
For the first time in eleven months, he canceled every meeting on his calendar.
It felt less like freedom than withdrawal.
By noon, the foundation board wanted an emergency call.
By one, two donors had asked whether the viral video compromised the gala’s purpose.
By two, a tabloid website had identified Lily.
At two fifteen, June called Adrian and said, “Fix it.”
He did not ask what she meant.
His public relations team had already drafted a statement describing Lily as “a young family acquaintance.”
Adrian deleted it.
He dictated another.
The child shown in widely circulated footage is a private citizen and a minor. Her appearance at the event was not planned, and she has no responsibility for questions concerning my family. I am asking media organizations and individuals not to publish or redistribute identifying information about her. I will not comment further on her identity.
His lawyer wanted a stronger warning.
Adrian said no.
His communications director wanted language thanking guests and redirecting attention to the foundation.
Adrian said no again.
“Just publish that.”
At four thirty, his assistant placed a folder on the desk.
“Mr. Cole?”
“Yes.”
She hesitated.
“What?”
“Miss Hart is downstairs.”
Adrian stood.
“June?”
“No. Lily.”
His stomach tightened.
“Alone?”
“No. Her mother is with her.”
They were waiting in the small library, not the formal reception room.
June had apparently refused the formal reception room.
Lily wore jeans, sneakers, and a yellow T-shirt with a horse printed on the front.
May you like
Adrian had spent the day wondering whether she looked like Claire.
Now he could see that she did not.
