Chương 10
The woman who had driven home from Patricia's house wanted answers immediately.
The woman standing barefoot in her kitchen wanted to crawl back into yesterday and become someone who never opened the drawer.
Instead, she opened her laptop.
She searched for nothing at first.
She simply stared at the screen.
Then she opened the folder of scanned documents she had made from the papers in Robert's old office.
The dates bothered her.
Not because they proved anything.
Because they did not.
The documents created a pattern without completing it.
Thomas had been connected to Robert.
Thomas had tried to contact her.
Robert had hidden the attempt.
But the reason remained somewhere outside her reach.
That was the part that made her angry.
She could handle a terrible truth.
She could not handle being treated like someone who was not allowed to have one.
At nine thirty, Lucas called.
She watched the phone ring until it stopped.
Thirty seconds later, he called again.
This time she answered.
“Hi, Mom.”
His voice was careful.
That bothered her more than anger would have.
“Hi.”
A pause followed.
“You okay?”
“No.”
Lucas exhaled quietly.
“I appreciate the honesty.”
Margaret looked out the window.
“Did you know?”
The silence lasted too long.
“Know what?”
She closed her eyes.
“Lucas.”
“I knew there were problems.”
“That is not what I asked.”
“I know.”
“Did you know Thomas contacted me?”
Another silence.
This one was different.
It carried guilt.
“Who told you that?”
Margaret almost laughed.
“That is your first question?”
“No.”
His voice became smaller.
“No, Mom.”
She waited.
“I knew he called Dad.”
“When?”
“Years ago.”
“How many?”
“Maybe twelve.”
Margaret gripped the edge of the counter.
“And you never said anything.”
“No.”
“Why?”
Lucas took a breath.
“I thought Dad handled it.”
The sentence hurt because it sounded so simple.
Not evil.
Not cruel.
Just a son assuming his father knew best.
“You thought your father handled a man trying to reach me about something important?”
“I was twenty-six.”
“You were an adult.”
“I know.”
Everyone knew.
Everyone always knew after.
“I thought if it was serious, he would tell you.”
Margaret looked down at the floor.
There was a small scratch near the cabinet that had been there for years.
She had never fixed it because Robert always said he would.
A tiny unfinished thing.
One of thousands.
“Lucas,” she said quietly.
“Yeah?”
“Did you ever ask him what happened?”
“No.”
“Why?”
Because he was afraid.
She could hear it before he answered.
“Because I did not want to know.”
The honesty landed harder than an excuse.
Margaret sat down.
For the first time, she heard not betrayal from her son.
She heard the same fear that had moved through everyone around her.
They had all been standing near the same fire.
They had simply chosen different ways to avoid the heat.
“I’m sorry, Mom.”
Margaret rubbed her forehead.
“I know.”
She hated saying it.
She hated how much she meant it.
After they hung up, she sat at the kitchen table for almost an hour.
She did nothing.
She watched a delivery driver leave a package at the neighbor's door.
She watched a woman walking a golden retriever stop to tie her shoe.
She watched the world continue without caring that her life had changed.
Eventually, Margaret took the folder from the cabinet and placed everything inside a canvas bag.
She did not know where she was going.
She only knew she could not keep waiting for other people to decide what she should know.
The first place she went was Robert's old office.
The building had changed owners two years after he retired.
The sign outside belonged to a different company.
The receptionist looked young enough that she probably had never heard his name.
Margaret almost left.
Then she saw the framed photographs on the wall behind the desk.
Employees.
Retirements.
Company celebrations.
One picture stopped her.
A group of men standing beside a half-finished building.
Robert was there.
Thomas was there.
And behind them stood another man Margaret did not recognize.
The receptionist noticed her staring.
“Can I help you?”
Margaret pointed.
“Who is that?”
The woman looked over.
“I’m not sure.”
“Can you find out?”
The receptionist hesitated.
That hesitation was familiar.
It was the same hesitation she had seen in Patricia.
The same hesitation she had seen in Lucas.
The world was full of people who knew a little and feared what came after knowing more.
“I can ask my manager.”
“Please.”
Ten minutes later, a man named David came from the back office.
He was older, probably around Robert's age.
When he saw the photograph, his expression changed.
Not dramatically.
Just enough.
“You knew them,” Margaret said.
David looked at her.
“Who are you?”
“My name is Margaret Hayes.”
The change was immediate.
Not recognition exactly.
Concern.
“I’m sorry.”
Those two words made her stomach tighten.
“Why are people always sorry before they say anything?”
David looked at the floor.
“Because sometimes the truth arrives late.”
Margaret opened the canvas bag.
“I need to know what happened.”
David did not touch the documents.
He did not ask to see them.
Instead, he pulled out a chair.
“Your husband was a good man.”
Margaret almost walked away.
“Do not start with that.”
David looked surprised.
“I’m not defending him.”
“Then what are you doing?”
“Trying to explain something people usually get wrong.”
“What?”
“That people are rarely only one thing.”
Margaret stayed standing.
David continued.
“Robert made mistakes.”
“What kind?”
“He trusted the wrong people.”
“That sounds like a way of saying he did not do anything wrong.”
“No.”
David shook his head.
“It is a way of saying he did something wrong and spent years trying to fix it.”
The words stopped her.
“What did he do?”
David looked toward the old photograph.
“Thomas wanted money.”
“For what?”
“Not money exactly.”
“Then what?”
“Control.”
Margaret waited.
David folded his arms.
“Thomas knew things about the early days of the company.”
“What things?”
“Shortcuts.”
The word was quiet.
But it carried weight.
“Illegal?”
David did not answer immediately.
That was answer enough.
“Robert found out too late that Thomas had been using their company to hide things.”
Margaret felt cold.
“Why did Robert not go to the police?”
“Because he was afraid.”
“Of Thomas?”
“Yes.”
“Or of losing everything?”
David looked at her.
“Both.”
She hated how human that sounded.
She wanted a monster.
A simple villain.
Someone she could place all the blame on.
Instead, she kept finding frightened people making choices.
“What happened with the proof Thomas had?”
David looked at the bag.
Then at her.
“Maybe you should ask Robert.”
Margaret felt the anger return.
“He is dead.”
David went silent.
“I know.”
“Then stop telling me to ask him.”
David swallowed.
“I’m sorry.”
Again.
Always sorry.
“There was something he left behind,” David said.
Margaret froze.
“What?”
David stood slowly.
“A storage box.”
“Where?”
“I do not know.”
“That is convenient.”
“I did not say it was easy.”
“Who has it?”
David looked uncomfortable.
“Someone who promised Robert they would never open it.”
Margaret stared.
“Who?”
May you like
David looked at her.
“Me.”
