Chương 12
“I sent the message.”
Rachel said nothing.
“I told the board she was dead.”
“Yes.”
“I never looked.”
“Yes.”
He stared at his father’s dog tag inside the evidence bag.
“He made it easier for me to be the worst version of myself.”
Rachel waited.
Nathan looked at her.
“I still became it.”
The public investigation continued.
Nathan’s leave became permanent when he resigned as chief executive three months after the gala.
The board had not formally demanded it.
They had come close.
Nathan spared them the vote.
His resignation letter was short.
He did not mention family.
He did not mention redemption.
He wrote that leadership required judgment and that his conduct during the Rivergate matter had failed that standard.
Some shareholders applauded.
Some accused the board of sacrificing him for his father’s crimes.
Nathan read neither group for long.
The hardest conversation was with Eli.
They met in Central Park on a cold Saturday afternoon.
Eli had grown used to Nathan arriving in clothes that cost too much.
Nathan had grown used to Eli commenting on them.
“You’re wearing another stupid coat.”
“It’s cold.”
“How much?”
“I’m not telling you.”
“That means a lot.”
Nathan smiled.
They walked beside the reservoir.
Teresa followed at a distance.
“I quit my job,” Nathan said.
Eli looked up.
“Why?”
“Because of what happened.”
“Did they fire you?”
“No.”
“So why quit?”
Nathan put his hands in his coat pockets.
“Because I didn’t think I should run the company while people were investigating decisions I made.”
Eli kicked a pebble.
“Are you poor now?”
Nathan laughed.
“No.”
“How rich?”
“Still stupidly rich.”
Eli nodded.
“Okay.”
They walked another twenty feet.
“Does it make you sad?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“I spent most of my adult life there.”
“But you said your dad was bad.”
“My father did bad things.”
“You still liked working there?”
“Yes.”
Eli looked confused.
Nathan understood why.
“People can love things that hurt them.”
“That sounds stupid too.”
“It can be.”
Eli kicked another pebble.
“Did you quit because of my mom?”
“Partly.”
“Would you have quit if I didn’t open the vault?”
Nathan looked at the water.
“No.”
Eli nodded as though that confirmed something he had already suspected.
Nathan felt ashamed.
But shame had become less useful than accuracy.
They stopped near a bench.
Eli sat.
Nathan sat beside him.
“Teresa says the money from Mom’s work is mine.”
“When you’re older, yes. There will be a trust.”
“Did you give it?”
“No. Your mother earned it.”
“Teresa said you signed the paper.”
“I did.”
“So why didn’t Mom get it?”
“Because the company treated her as if she abandoned her job.”
“But she didn’t.”
“No.”
“Because your dad made her.”
“Yes.”
“And you didn’t fix it.”
“No.”
Eli looked at him.
Nathan waited.
“You say no a lot now.”
“What should I say?”
“I don’t know.”
They sat quietly.
A runner passed.
A dog pulled toward a squirrel.
Somebody behind them argued about whether to order Thai food.
Eli rubbed his shoe against the pavement.
“Mom told me not to ask you for anything.”
Nathan’s throat tightened.
“Why?”
“She said you’d give me too much.”
Nathan smiled sadly.
“She was probably right.”
“She said rich people sometimes use presents to make hard things easy.”
Nathan looked down.
“She was definitely right.”
Eli reached into his pocket and took out a folded piece of paper.
He gave it to Nathan.
Nathan unfolded it.
There was an address written in pencil.
“What’s this?”
“Storage.”
“What storage?”
“Mom’s.”
Nathan looked at Teresa.
She had stopped walking.
Eli said, “She had boxes.”
“Why are you giving me this?”
“Teresa said some are yours.”
Teresa approached.
“I said some might be his.”
Nathan looked at her.
“What’s there?”
“Mara kept everything.”
“That sounds terrifying.”
“It should.”
The storage unit was in Queens.
Nathan went with Teresa the following week.
Eli stayed at school.
Nathan offered to send someone.
Teresa refused.
“You’re carrying boxes.”
“I can hire people to carry boxes.”
“That’s exactly why you’re carrying boxes.”
The facility smelled like dust and concrete.
Nathan wore an old sweater Rachel had insisted he owned, although he could not remember buying it.
Teresa unlocked unit 314.
Inside were fifteen boxes, a floor lamp, a folded table, two suitcases, a child’s bicycle too small for Eli now, and a wooden chair with one loose leg.
Nathan stared.
“This was her life?”
“This was what she couldn’t fit in my apartment after she got sick.”
He stepped inside.
The first box contained kitchenware.
The second held Eli’s preschool drawings.
The third was labeled NATHAN.
Teresa looked at him.
“Congratulations.”
Nathan sat on the floor.
Inside were photographs.
Not many.
Enough.
Nathan and Mara in Philadelphia.
Mara asleep on an airport chair with her mouth slightly open.
Nathan wearing a paper crown at a diner.
A blurry photograph of both of them reflected in an elevator mirror.
He held it carefully.
“I remember this.”
Teresa was sorting another box.
“Good for you.”
Nathan accepted the hostility.
Beneath the photographs were letters.
None mailed.
Some addressed to him.
Some not.
Teresa looked over.
“Read them if you want.”
“Did you?”
“Some.”
Nathan hesitated.
“That feels private.”
Teresa laughed.
“You publicly declared her dead.”
He nodded.
“Fair.”
He opened one.
Nathan,
Eli laughed today because I sneezed. Apparently this is peak comedy when you are four months old.
That was all.
Another:
Nathan,
He has your left eyebrow. I hate this because your left eyebrow was always smug.
Nathan smiled.
Then stopped.
Another letter had no joke.
Nathan,
I almost called you today. I got as far as typing your number. I still know it, which annoys me.
I don’t know what I want from you anymore. An apology would not give Eli nine months back. Or three years. Maybe by the time you see this it will be more.
May you like
I used to think you would come looking as soon as you calmed down.
Then I realized not looking was also a decision.
