Chương 10
The room changed again.
Not dramatically.
Just enough.
A new possibility entered it.
Brandon shook his head.
"No."
Nobody answered him.
"No," he repeated.
"She wouldn't."
My father looked at him.
"You've had a difficult night discovering what your mother might do."
Brandon stood.
"She did not bring Emma there for money."
"Sit down," Officer Ramirez said.
He ignored her.
"She was horrible, okay?"
His voice cracked.
"She was cruel."
He looked at me.
"I know that."
My chest tightened.
"But she didn't plan all of this to get access to your father."
Howard remained calm.
"Why are you certain?"
"Because she's not that calculating."
My father almost smiled.
"Your mother had her daughter obtain security footage of a woman she had never met."
Brandon looked at him.
"That's Natasha."
"Clarissa received the messages."
"That doesn't prove anything."
"No."
My father nodded.
"It doesn't."
Brandon seemed thrown by the agreement.
My father continued.
"But it does justify questions."
Brandon sat slowly.
He looked exhausted now.
Not defeated.
Exhausted.
Officer Ramirez slid the phone several inches away from him.
"Is there anything else on this device related to the altercation tonight?"
He thought about it.
"I don't know."
"Any messages planning what would happen?"
"I showed you what I found."
"Anything suggesting someone intended physical contact?"
"No."
"Any threats?"
"No."
"Any message telling your sister to grab Emma?"
"No."
Officer Ramirez nodded.
"Then for my purposes, the relevant material is what you've already shown me."
Howard looked at the phone.
"And the rest?"
"Not my investigation."
My father said, "Understood."
Howard glanced at him.
I heard the silent second sentence anyway.
We will have our own people review it.
My father caught my expression.
He frowned.
"What?"
"Nothing."
"Emma."
"You two have a whole language made out of not saying things."
Howard looked offended.
"We're very efficient."
"That's exactly what I mean."
For the first time since entering the conference room, Brandon almost smiled.
It vanished quickly.
A knock came at the door.
The hotel director entered.
"There are reporters gathering outside."
Howard checked his watch.
"Already?"
"The helicopter helped."
My father looked at him.
Howard raised both hands.
"I did suggest driving."
"You said traffic would take forty minutes."
"It would have."
"And?"
"And here we are."
The director looked uncomfortable.
"There are also people in the lobby asking whether Ms. Cooper is still here."
"How many?" Howard asked.
"Maybe fifteen."
"Press?"
"Some."
"Others?"
The director hesitated.
"Guests from the event."
My stomach tightened.
"Why?"
"I don't know."
Brandon gave a humorless laugh.
"They want to apologize now."
The hotel director did not deny it.
My father looked at me.
"We can leave through the service garage."
I wanted to say yes immediately.
Then I thought of the waiter.
The woman near the dance floor.
The hotel manager.
People who had stepped forward before knowing whether it would benefit them.
I also thought of the others who had laughed.
The man who called me a gold digger.
Jessica and her phone.
Clarissa telling security to remove me.
"I don't want to see anyone from upstairs."
"You don't have to," my father said.
Howard nodded.
"We can clear a route."
Officer Ramirez closed her notebook.
"I still need your contact information and a few signatures."
I gave them to her.
The ordinary administrative steps calmed me again.
Address.
Phone number.
Date of birth.
A signature that looked less like mine because my hand was still unsteady.
Brandon watched silently.
When Ramirez finished, she looked at him.
He nodded.
I stood.
This time my knees held.
My father picked up Howard's jacket from the back of my chair and draped it over his arm.
I looked at Brandon.
He looked back at me.
There was no clean ending waiting between us.
No satisfying line.
No version of the night where I said the perfect thing and walked away untouched.
He had failed me.
I had lied to him.
His mother had manipulated both of us.
All three truths could exist without balancing each other.
"I didn't know about the money," he said.
"I believe you."
He blinked.
Maybe he had expected anger.
Maybe anger would have been easier.
"I should've protected you."
I looked at him.
"No."
His face tightened.
"You should've stood beside me."
He swallowed.
"That's what I meant."
"It isn't."
He nodded slowly.
I turned toward the door.
"Emma."
I stopped.
"I don't expect you to forgive me."
I waited.
He looked down at his hands.
"I just don't want tonight to be the thing that makes you think every moment before it was fake."
That one found somewhere tender.
I hated him a little for knowing where to aim, even if he had not meant to.
I looked at the loosened tie, the champagne stain, the man who had spent eight months making me coffee too strong because he never remembered how much grounds to use.
"Some of it was real."
He looked up.
"Some?"
"I don't know which parts yet."
His eyes dropped again.
"Okay."
I left.
The service corridor behind the conference floor smelled like detergent and fried onions from the hotel kitchen.
It was almost midnight.
Employees moved carts past us, some pretending not to recognize my father, others failing completely.
One young dishwasher stared so openly that another worker nudged him with an elbow.
My father walked beside me.
Howard stayed several steps behind, taking calls in a low voice.
For a while, neither of us said anything.
Then my father said, "You lied to him."
I stopped walking.
The corridor hummed around us.
A cart rattled somewhere ahead.
"You're choosing now?"
"No."
"You have an interesting sense of timing."
"I said you're not wrong."
"That is not the same as saying I was right."
His jaw tightened.
"I'm trying."
I stared at him.
He looked older under the service lights.
Not billionaire older.
Just father older.
"I was going to tell him."
"When?"
"I don't know."
May you like
"That's what he said."
The words stung because they were true.
