Chương 8
Maribel nodded.
“Yes.”
“How?”
She folded one hand over the other.
“I met your father through a foundation dinner.”
Estelle’s mouth tightened.
Leandro knew that part.
Or thought he did.
Maribel continued.
“He learned that I had worked with a nonprofit legal clinic.”
“You were a development director,” Estelle said.
“I was.”
“So why would he tell you about this?”
“He didn’t at first.”
Maribel looked at Leandro.
“He asked whether I knew someone who could help with an estate dispute.”
“What dispute?”
“Alina wanted access to records after her mother died.”
Celia said, “She suspected there was more money.”
Maribel nodded.
“There was.”
Leandro looked at the folder.
“The reserve.”
“Yes.”
“And Dad sent you to deal with her.”
Maribel’s eyes hardened.
“He asked me to mediate.”
“That sounds cleaner.”
Maribel flinched at hearing her own accusation returned to her.
“Yes.”
Leandro noticed.
“So what happened?”
“She refused to sign a waiver.”
“Good.”
Maribel’s gaze sharpened.
“I agreed.”
That stopped him.
“You agreed with her.”
“Yes.”
“Then why did Dad keep you around?”
Maribel leaned back.
“Because I told him he was being a coward.”
Estelle looked at her.
For the first time that night, something close to disbelief softened her anger.
“You said that to him.”
“Repeatedly.”
A faint, humorless smile touched Maribel’s mouth.
“He liked people who challenged him as long as they eventually lost.”
Estelle almost smiled.
Almost.
“He did.”
The shared recognition passed between them and disappeared.
Leandro did not miss it.
He hated how many versions of his father were emerging from people who had known different pieces of him.
Celia opened a side pocket of the leather folder.
“There is something else.”
Maribel went still.
“What?”
Celia removed a sealed envelope.
The paper had yellowed slightly at the edges.
Leandro stood.
“Another letter?”
Celia nodded.
“To Estelle.”
Estelle stared at it.
“From my husband?”
“Yes.”
“Why do you have it?”
Celia looked at Maribel.
Maribel whispered, “No.”
Celia’s expression tightened.
“It’s time.”
Maribel stood.
“You don’t get to decide that.”
“Neither do you.”
Estelle rose slowly.
“Give it to me.”
Celia hesitated.
That hesitation made the envelope suddenly frightening.
Estelle held out her hand.
“Please.”
Celia passed it over.
Estelle recognized the handwriting before she touched it.
Her husband had written her name across the front in the impatient slant he used when addressing birthday cards at the last minute.
Her thumb brushed the E.
Leandro watched her.
“You don’t have to open it tonight.”
Estelle looked at him.
“Yes, I do.”
Her fingers slipped under the flap.
The glue had long since dried.
The paper opened with almost no resistance.
Inside were three pages.
Estelle unfolded them.
She read the first line.
Her face changed.
Leandro stepped closer.
“What?”
She kept reading.
By the second paragraph, her breathing had become shallow.
Daphne moved toward her.
Estelle raised one hand.
Not yet.
She reached the bottom of the first page.
Then she sat down.
Maribel looked at Celia.
“You knew what it said.”
Celia nodded.
Maribel’s voice sharpened.
“And you brought it here anyway.”
“Yes.”
Estelle turned the page.
Leandro could no longer wait.
“Mom.”
She looked up at him.
There was no anger in her face now.
Only shock.
“He says Alina isn’t his daughter.”
Leandro stared at her.
Celia looked down.
Maribel closed her eyes.
Arthur lowered his phone.
Nobody spoke.
Estelle looked at the letter again.
“He says he knew for twenty years.”
Leandro’s voice came out barely audible.
“Then why did he keep paying?”
Estelle read another few lines.
Her hand began to shake.
“Because her mother knew something about him.”
Maribel sat down again.
Leandro looked at her.
“What?”
Maribel said nothing.
Estelle continued reading.
Then she stopped.
Her eyes lifted slowly toward Maribel.
The silence between them became unbearable.
“What did you know about my husband’s car accident in 1998?”
Maribel’s face went white.
Leandro looked from one woman to the other.
“What car accident?”
Estelle did not take her eyes off Maribel.
“The one he told everyone never happened.”
Maribel did not answer.
Leandro watched her face lose whatever defenses it had left.
Arthur slowly lowered himself into a chair.
Celia looked toward the closed library doors.
Estelle held the letter in both hands.
“What happened in 1998?”
Maribel swallowed.
“Your husband hit someone.”
Leandro’s voice hardened.
“Who?”
“A man named Peter Boone.”
Celia’s head lifted.
Estelle looked at her.
“Boone.”
Celia nodded once.
“My brother.”
The room went quiet again.
Leandro stared at Celia.
“You’re Alina’s aunt.”
“Yes.”
“And you worked for my father.”
“Yes.”
“For twenty-three years.”
“Yes.”
He laughed once, but there was no amusement in it.
“Of course.”
Celia looked down.
“I needed access.”
“To what?”
“To the truth.”
Arthur leaned forward.
“Be careful with that phrase.”
Celia turned toward him.
“I have been careful for two decades.”
Leandro cut in.
“What happened to your brother?”
Celia’s jaw tightened.
“He survived the crash.”
“And?”
“He never really recovered.”
Estelle lowered the letter.
“What kind of injuries?”
“Spinal damage.”
Celia took a breath.
“Chronic pain.”
Another breath.
“He lost his construction business.”
Leandro looked at Maribel.
“What did my father do?”
Maribel answered quietly.
“He paid.”
Celia laughed bitterly.
“He paid to disappear.”
Estelle’s expression hardened.
“Explain.”
Celia looked at her.
“Peter had been drinking that night.”
Arthur frowned.
“So liability was disputed.”
“Yes.”
Celia’s eyes sharpened.
“But your husband had been drinking too.”
Estelle’s face changed.
Leandro looked toward the letter.
“What does Dad say?”
Estelle read silently for a few seconds.
“He says there was no police report.”
Arthur straightened.
“That’s a serious claim.”
Celia nodded.
“It was handled privately.”
“How?”
Maribel said, “Connections.”
Arthur looked at her.
“What kind of connections?”
“Local.”
“That is not useful.”
“No.”
Maribel rubbed her fingers together.
“Your father knew the deputy chief.”
Leandro’s face tightened.
“Are you saying he buried a crash?”
“I’m saying the crash never became what it should have become.”
Celia looked at him.
May you like
“That’s the polite version.”
Estelle’s voice was cold.
