Chương 7
He walked away from the desk and stood near the bookshelf.
The same bookshelf he had spent months building when I was a teenager.
I remembered sitting on the floor nearby while he measured pieces of wood.
Back then, I thought my father could fix anything.
Now I wondered how many broken things he had hidden instead.
"The foundation was her entire identity," he said.
"That does not answer my question."
He rubbed his hand over his face.
"Viv built everything around being seen as successful."
"Everyone knows that."
"No."
He looked at me.
"Everyone saw the events, the donations, the speeches."
His voice lowered.
"They did not see the pressure behind it."
I crossed my arms.
"Pressure does not explain stealing."
His expression changed.
"You think I don't know that?"
The anger surprised me.
Not because he was angry.
Because for the first time, I saw how much shame he carried.
"I am not defending her," he said.
"Then what are you doing?"
He looked at the document.
"Trying to explain how we got here."
I almost laughed.
"That sounds like another excuse."
"Maybe it is."
The honesty stopped me.
My father sat down.
He looked exhausted.
Not innocent.
Not forgiven.
Just exhausted.
"I should have stopped it sooner."
"Yes."
The answer came out immediately.
He nodded.
"I know."
"Why didn't you?"
That question had been waiting years before I even knew to ask it.
He looked toward the office door.
"Because Viv is my daughter."
I stared at him.
"And I am yours."
The words were quiet.
But they landed.
His face tightened.
"I know."
"No, you don't."
I stepped closer.
"You keep saying that."
My voice shook despite my effort to control it.
"You know facts."
"You know what happened."
"But you don't know what it felt like to watch your granddaughter get defended while your grandson got blamed."
He looked down.
"You don't know what it felt like to stand there and realize everyone had already decided who Eli was."
My father swallowed.
"I was wrong."
The apology was simple.
Too simple.
Maybe because some wounds were too large for a sentence.
"I am not asking you to say you were wrong."
"Then what are you asking?"
I looked at him.
"I want to know why I was always the person nobody protected."
He did not answer.
That silence was the answer.
I left the office before I said something I would regret.
Outside, I sat in my car for nearly twenty minutes.
I did not drive.
I did not call anyone.
I just sat there.
A woman pushed a stroller down the sidewalk.
A teenager rode past on a bicycle.
A dog barked from someone's backyard.
The normal world kept moving.
I hated that normal life did not stop when your heart did.
My phone buzzed.
It was Claire.
"Can you talk?"
I answered.
"Yes."
"We traced one of the consulting companies."
I straightened.
"And?"
"It is connected to Viv."
I closed my eyes.
"How?"
"Not directly."
I waited.
"Her assistant registered it two years ago."
My stomach tightened.
"Her assistant?"
"Yes."
"Does Viv know?"
Claire paused.
"That is the problem."
"What?"
"We don't know whether the assistant acted alone."
I looked back at my parents' house.
The curtains moved slightly upstairs.
"Who is the assistant?"
"Marissa Cole."
The name sounded familiar.
I searched my memory.
"She worked at the foundation."
"She still does."
"Why would she do this?"
"We are looking into it."
I thought about something my father said.
She was drowning.
Maybe everyone around Viv had been protecting something.
Maybe some people were not protecting her.
Maybe they were protecting themselves from what happened if she fell.
"What about the bracelet?" I asked.
Claire became quiet.
"We found something interesting."
"What?"
"The insurance company was contacted this morning."
"By who?"
"Viv."
I gripped the steering wheel.
"After everything happened?"
"Yes."
"Why would she do that?"
"That is what we need to find out."
I looked toward the house again.
My family had spent years hiding behind closed doors.
Now every door seemed to be opening at once.
When I got home, Eli was on the living room floor building something with his old blocks.
He looked up.
"Did you talk to Grandpa?"
"Yes."
"Is he mad?"
I took off my coat.
"No."
"Is Aunt Viv mad?"
I thought about that.
"Probably."
Eli nodded like he expected that answer.
Then he picked up a block.
"She was always mad when people didn't do what she wanted."
I sat beside him.
"What do you mean?"
He shrugged.
"I don't know."
Again.
That phrase.
I waited.
He connected two blocks together.
"At Thanksgiving, Owen spilled juice."
I remembered.
It had been a small accident.
A glass knocked over during dinner.
Everyone laughed.
Except Viv.
"She yelled at him."
I frowned.
"I don't remember that."
"You were outside."
The detail surprised me.
Because I had been outside.
I had been taking a phone call.
Another small moment I had missed.
Another piece of a family story happening while I was somewhere else.
"What did she say?"
Eli hesitated.
"She said he embarrassed her."
I felt my chest tighten.
"And?"
"He said sorry."
"And?"
"He said he didn't mean to."
Eli looked at me.
"She said that was not the point."
I knew exactly what that meant.
With Viv, mistakes were rarely about the mistake.
They were about how the mistake reflected on her.
"Why are you telling me this now?"
He looked down.
"Because Owen looked scared yesterday."
I was quiet.
"He was scared of his mom?"
Eli nodded.
That hurt.
Because Owen had always been the child everyone praised.
The easy child.
The confident child.
The one who seemed to have everything.
But children carried things quietly.
Sometimes the child who looked strongest was just better at hiding.
That evening, I received a message from an unknown number.
I almost ignored it.
Then another message arrived.
May you like
Please do not trust your father.
I stared at the screen.
