Chương 12
The kitchen went quiet.
That was the real damage.
Not the badge.
Not the paperwork.
Uncertainty spreading backward through every conversation Fiona and Donovan had ever had.
Arthur looked away first.
“She loves you.”
“I know.”
“Then don’t drag this out.”
Donovan’s expression sharpened.
“You don’t get to tell me how quickly to trust someone.”
Arthur took one step forward.
I moved between them before either could decide whether this was going somewhere stupid.
“Enough.”
Arthur looked at me.
“You taking his side now?”
“I’m taking the side of not having a fight next to the potato salad.”
Donovan glanced toward the refrigerator.
“There’s potato salad?”
I stared at him.
He shrugged.
“I missed dinner.”
Arthur made a disgusted sound and walked out.
Donovan watched him leave.
“Was that inappropriate?”
“A little.”
“I’m starving.”
I opened the refrigerator and found the bowl.
“Mom used to put too much mustard in this.”
“Your mom?”
“Yes.”
He looked at the yellow salad.
“Did she make this?”
“No.”
“That seems important.”
“It isn’t.”
He laughed quietly.
I handed him the bowl and a fork.
He leaned against the counter and ate directly from it.
“You’re disgusting.”
“I’ve eaten vending-machine tuna at four in the morning.”
“That doesn’t improve this.”
He took another bite.
For a minute, neither of us spoke.
Outside, car doors began closing.
Guests were leaving in earnest now.
“Did I handle that badly?”
Donovan asked.
“Which part?”
“Fiona.”
“I’m the wrong person to ask.”
“You know her.”
“That’s exactly why.”
He stirred the potato salad.
“She looked terrified.”
“She was.”
“I hated it.”
“That doesn’t mean you were wrong.”
He nodded.
“I know.”
Then he gave me a tired look.
“That sounds familiar.”
“Apparently we’re all repeating ourselves tonight.”
He set the fork down.
“Do you believe her?”
“About what?”
“That she thought the credential had been corrected legitimately.”
I considered it.
“At first, maybe.”
“And later?”
“No.”
His jaw tightened.
“Yeah.”
“She knew enough to know something was wrong.”
“Two months.”
“Yes.”
He stared into the bowl.
“I keep replaying the night I proposed.”
I didn’t say anything.
“She cried.”
His mouth pulled sideways.
“Like ugly cried.”
“Fiona?”
“Completely.”
“That I would pay to see.”
He laughed once.
Then the laughter faded.
“She kept saying she didn’t deserve me.”
My chest tightened.
“At the time I thought it was just one of those things people say.”
“Maybe it was.”
“Maybe.”
He rubbed the back of his neck.
“Or maybe she was thinking about this.”
“Both can be true.”
He looked at me.
“That doesn’t help.”
“I’m not good at helping.”
“So I’ve heard.”
He carried the bowl back to the refrigerator.
When he opened the door, Fiona stood in the hallway behind him.
Neither of us had heard her approach.
Her face was freshly washed.
The makeup around her eyes was gone.
She had changed out of her uniform into jeans and an old gray sweatshirt that belonged to Arthur.
Without the badge, without the formal clothes, she looked younger.
“Was that Mom’s potato salad?”
she asked.
“No.”
Donovan closed the refrigerator.
“Thank God.”
Fiona looked at him.
“Can we talk?”
He glanced at me.
I started toward the doorway.
“Jo.”
Fiona stopped me.
I turned.
“Stay.”
Donovan frowned slightly.
Fiona saw it.
“Not for everything.”
She pulled a folded piece of paper from her sweatshirt pocket.
“I found something.”
I looked at the paper.
“What?”
“An email.”
My stomach tightened.
“From Mercer?”
She nodded.
Arthur’s footsteps sounded in the hallway, then stopped.
He had heard the name.
Fiona looked toward him.
“Come in.”
He didn’t move.
“Dad.”
Arthur entered slowly.
His face had gone pale.
Fiona unfolded the paper.
“I sent this to myself before I deleted the original.”
Donovan’s expression changed.
“When?”
“Two months ago.”
The same two months.
I held out my hand.
“Let me see.”
She gave it to me.
It was a printed screenshot rather than a direct email export.
The sender line showed Cal Mercer’s name.
The message was short.
Your status is cleaned up.
Tell your old man we’re square.
Do not forward this.
I read it twice.
Arthur sank into one of the kitchen chairs.
Donovan looked at him.
“Square for what?”
Arthur said nothing.
Fiona stood across from him.
“I asked you that when I got this.”
“I remember.”
“You said he meant the consulting payment.”
“He did.”
“You sure?”
“Yes.”
“Then why did you tell me to delete the email?”
Arthur looked at her.
For once, he seemed to have no version ready.
I set the screenshot on the counter.
“This isn’t enough by itself.”
Fiona stared at me.
“What?”
“It matters, but it doesn’t prove what Mercer changed or why.”
Her disappointment flashed.
I continued.
“It does establish that he was communicating about your status and that Dad knew enough to advise you to delete the message.”
Arthur surged to his feet.
“I told her to delete it because it sounded bad.”
“That is not better.”
“I didn’t know he’d falsified anything.”
Fiona’s voice was quiet.
“Did you ask?”
Arthur looked at her.
“Did you?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
His face twisted.
“Because I thought it was fixed.”
“You keep using that word.”
“I was trying to help you.”
“You were trying to make the problem disappear.”
“That is helping.”
“No.”
She looked exhausted again.
“That’s hiding.”
Arthur stared at her.
I thought he might shout.
Instead, he sat back down.
His shoulders collapsed.
“I didn’t want you to lose everything over one mistake.”
Fiona’s eyes filled, but she did not look away.
“So you made it bigger.”
He nodded once.
Barely.
It was the closest thing to surrender I had ever seen from him.
Donovan pulled out a chair and sat across from Arthur.
“Did Mercer ask you for two thousand?”
Arthur shook his head.
“I offered.”
The answer made all three of us still.
Fiona whispered, “Dad.”
“I thought he could help.”
“Why two thousand?”
May you like
“He said getting old records reopened was a pain.”
“That doesn’t explain the amount.”
