Chương 6
Cowardly, Mara thought.
Then she reached the final page.
If the child is willing, you should tell her the truth. I failed to do so when it would have mattered. Do not mistake money for repair. Do not mistake blood for entitlement. She owes this family nothing.
Mara stopped reading.
Nina sat across from her.
Neither spoke.
Finally Mara said, “I hate him.”
“Okay.”
“I never met him.”
“Still allowed.”
“He sounds like he’s trying to be decent after he’s dead.”
“That is generally the easiest time.”
Mara laughed once.
Then cried again.
She put both hands over her face.
“This is ridiculous.”
“No, it isn’t.”
“I don’t even know what I’m upset about.”
“That your dad was a married billionaire who wrote you an eleven-page apology from beyond the grave?”
“Not helpful.”
“Sorry.”
Mara lowered her hands.
“He knew.”
“Looks like it.”
“My mother knew he knew.”
“Looks like it.”
“She never told me.”
Nina looked toward the locket on the table.
“Maybe she tried.”
“No. Giving me jewelry without an explanation is not trying.”
“No.”
Mara stared at the letter.
The anger came easier than grief.
She was grateful for that.
At three that afternoon, she called a lawyer.
Not one Adrian recommended.
Not one the museum recommended.
Nina found an attorney named Rebecca Sloan through a former coworker whose sister had handled workplace assault cases.
Rebecca listened for almost forty minutes without interrupting.
Then she said, “There are several separate issues here, and I need you not to let anyone combine them.”
Mara liked her immediately.
“The assault is one issue. Your employment is another. Public statements are another. Any possible family or estate matter is another. The fact that they happened in the same room does not mean one gets traded for another.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means nobody gets to offer you family information in exchange for not cooperating with the assault investigation. Nobody gets to offer you money in exchange for pretending your workplace obligations are settled. Nobody gets to tell you a DNA test resolves anything except biology.”
Mara looked at the letter on the table.
“Thank you.”
“I haven’t done anything yet.”
“You separated it.”
“Yes.”
“Everyone else keeps making it one giant thing.”
“That’s because giant things are easier to manipulate emotionally.”
Mara hired her.
That night she slept for three hours.
At two in the morning she woke because someone shouted on the street.
For one panicked second she thought reporters were outside.
They weren’t.
Just two men arguing beside a parked car.
One shouted, “You said alternate-side was tomorrow.”
The other shouted back, “It is tomorrow.”
Mara lay in bed staring at the ceiling.
Then she laughed into her pillow.
The next morning, there were indeed reporters outside.
Nina looked through the blinds.
“Okay. Now you can be paranoid.”
Mara pulled a sweatshirt over her injured shoulder slowly.
“I don’t want to leave.”
“Then don’t.”
“I have a follow-up appointment.”
“Then we leave.”
“I hate this.”
“Also allowed.”
They exited through the basement.
The building superintendent pretended not to notice.
He held the door open and said, “Your mother used to bring me flan.”
Mara stopped.
He looked embarrassed.
“I don’t know why I said that.”
“She did.”
“Christmas.”
“Yeah.”
“She put too much cinnamon.”
“She always did.”
He nodded.
Then, because people often failed at the exact moment they were trying hardest to be kind, he said, “Your brother seems very rich.”
Nina closed her eyes.
The superintendent looked horrified.
Mara laughed.
“Yeah,” she said. “Apparently.”
The DNA test happened three days later.
Rebecca arranged it through a laboratory neither family controlled.
Adrian agreed without argument.
He and Mara arrived separately.
He wore a charcoal coat and no tie.
Without the gala clothing and the men orbiting him, he seemed less imposing.
Still rich.
Some qualities survived casual wear.
They sat opposite each other in a waiting room containing a dying ficus and magazines from last year.
Neither knew what to say.
Finally Adrian pointed at her shoulder sling.
“Better?”
“A little.”
He nodded.
Mara looked at his hands.
Same fingers she had seen around Celeste’s wrist.
Long.
Still.
She hated that she was searching for resemblance.
“You look like him?” she asked.
“My father?”
“Yes.”
“So I’m told.”
“I looked him up.”
“That’s fair.”
“You don’t sound happy about it.”
“I’m not.”
“Why?”
Adrian glanced toward the receptionist.
“My relationship with him was complicated.”
“That’s rich-person code for terrible?”
A brief smile.
“Sometimes.”
Mara leaned back.
“That almost looked human.”
“I’m doing my best.”
The technician called Adrian first.
After the samples were taken, they ended up at the elevator together.
He said, “There’s something else.”
Mara pressed the button.
“There always is.”
“My father’s letter references an account.”
“The money.”
“Yes.”
“I don’t want it.”
“I’m not offering it.”
She looked at him.
“That came out wrong.”
“Extremely.”
“The account no longer exists.”
The elevator arrived.
They stepped inside.
“What happened to it?”
“I don’t know yet.”
Mara watched the floor numbers change.
“You keep saying that.”
“Yes.”
“I’m beginning to believe you.”
“That’s probably healthy.”
She looked at him.
He was serious.
The elevator doors opened.
Outside, a photographer waited across the street.
Mara immediately stepped back.
Adrian saw him.
“Do you want my car?”
“No.”
“He’ll follow you.”
“He’ll follow your car faster.”
“Fair.”
She pulled up her hood.
“Mara.”
She stopped.
Adrian looked uncomfortable.
It was interesting.
“I’m sorry I didn’t contact you eight months ago.”
She stared at him.
“I thought I was giving you a choice.”
“You were taking one.”
“Yes.”
“That’s the problem with people who have power.”
He absorbed that without defending himself.
“You mistake not acting for neutrality,” she said.
Then she walked outside.
Six days later, the DNA results arrived.
99.96 percent probability that Adrian Vale and Mara Reyes shared a biological father.
Mara read the page alone.
She had asked Nina to go to work.
May you like
Not because she wanted privacy.
Because she was tired of having witnesses to every expression.
