Chương 7
Arthur rubbed his thumb across his palm.
Kesha noticed. He noticed her noticing and stopped.
“It was a termination invoice,” he said. “A letter from an attorney saying you had accepted two hundred thousand dollars to resolve any claims. A copy of a wire transfer.”
“I received nothing.”
“I know that now.”
“How?”
“I called the bank this morning. The account wasn’t yours.”
“Whose was it?”
“They wouldn’t tell me.”
“Then how do you know it wasn’t mine?”
“The last four digits were on the transfer. I checked every record I could access from the accounts we used when we were together. None matched.”
Kesha leaned back.
“Did you sign anything?”
“A confidentiality agreement.”
“With whom?”
“My father’s attorney. It said I would not contact you directly because all communication would go through counsel.”
“And you signed it.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“I was twenty-nine and working under my father.”
“You were not a child.”
“No.”
“You had a phone.”
“Yes.”
“You knew where I lived.”
“Yes.”
“You had been in my bed three nights before you disappeared.”
Arthur closed his eyes briefly.
Kesha kept her voice low. “Did you ever call?”
“Once.”
Her breath caught despite herself.
“When?”
“The day after my father showed me the documents.”
“My number did not change.”
“I called from my office. It rang twice, then disconnected.”
“You took two rings as confirmation that I had ended a pregnancy and accepted money?”
“No.”
“But you stopped.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because I was relieved.”
The honesty of it was brutal.
Arthur looked at her. “Not relieved that the pregnancy was gone. Relieved that I didn’t have to choose between you and my family. Relieved that I could say it had been taken out of my hands. I knew there were reasons to doubt the documents. I saw them, and I ignored them.”
Kesha’s nails pressed into her palm.
“What reasons?”
“The attorney’s letter called you Ms. Carter.”
Kesha stared at him.
Her mother’s surname had been Carter. Kesha had never used it.
“The invoice had a clinic in Connecticut,” Arthur continued. “You lived in Brooklyn. Your doctor was in Manhattan. The wire transfer went to an account opened three days before the payment. I told myself none of that mattered.”
“You saw all of that?”
“Yes.”
“And you signed.”
“Yes.”
Kesha stood.
Arthur stood too. “I am not asking you to forgive me.”
“Good.”
“I want to know what happened.”
“What happened is that I called until your number stopped working. I went to your apartment and found it empty. I went to your office, and security escorted me out. A man from your father’s legal team called that evening and said if I contacted you again, they would accuse me of extortion and inform my employer that I had stolen client data.”
Arthur’s face changed. “You never told me that.”
“I could not reach you.”
“You could have gone to the police.”
“For what? A threatening phone call from a lawyer whose name I did not have? I was pregnant with four babies, working sixty hours a week, and trying not to lose health insurance.”
“You could have contacted my mother.”
“I sent her a letter.”
Arthur went still.
“When?”
“Before the children were born.”
“To the estate?”
“Yes.”
“What happened to it?”
“I received it,” Margaret said from the doorway.
Kesha and Arthur turned.
Margaret stood beside Elena. She wore a gray wool coat and no makeup. Without the gold gown, jewels, and carefully arranged hair, she looked less like a Brooks family portrait and more like a tired woman in her sixties.
Elena’s expression was apologetic. “She refused to leave.”
Margaret stepped inside. “I received the letter.”
Arthur stared at his mother. “You knew?”
“I knew Kesha said she was pregnant.”
“And?”
“I gave the letter to your father.”
Kesha sat slowly.
Margaret’s eyes filled, but her voice remained steady. “I did not read all of it. I saw your name. I saw that she said there were complications and more than one baby. Your father told me it had been resolved, that Kesha was demanding money, and that you had asked him to manage it.”
“I never asked him to hide children from me.”
“You asked him to solve a problem.”
Arthur looked as if she had slapped him.
Margaret turned toward Kesha. “I should have called you.”
“Yes,” Kesha said.
“I was afraid.”
“Of what?”
“Of my husband. Of scandal. Of Arthur losing his position. Of being told I was foolish and emotional if I interfered.” Margaret glanced at her son. “I have spent much of my life being afraid in comfortable rooms.”
Arthur looked away.
Margaret drew an envelope from her bag. It was yellowed and creased along one edge.
“I found this last night,” she said.
Kesha recognized her own handwriting.
The sight of it struck with physical force.
She remembered standing at the post office counter, one hand supporting the underside of her stomach. The clerk had complained about the printer. A toddler had screamed over a candy bar. Kesha had purchased certified mail because it cost less than a courier and more than hope.
Margaret held the letter toward her.
Kesha did not take it.
“Where was it?”
“In Richard’s safe.”
Arthur looked at his mother. “How did you get into his safe?”
“I know the combination.”
“You searched it?”
“I searched for one lie and found several.”
She placed the envelope on the table.
The seal had been opened. Inside were six pages Kesha had written by hand because she believed handwriting might make her seem like a person rather than a problem. She had described the high-risk pregnancy, the prenatal report, and her inability to contact Arthur. She had not asked for money. She had asked Margaret to tell her son that the babies were alive.
Arthur reached toward the letter, then stopped.
“May I?”
Kesha nodded once.
May you like
He read in silence.
On the third page, his breathing changed. Kesha knew which line he had reached because she remembered every word.
