Chương 11
“Yes.”
Sophie considered this.
“Can you be mad at dead people?”
“Apparently.”
“Good.”
“Why good?”
“I’m mad at her too.”
Daniel turned.
Sophie was crying quietly.
No sound.
Just tears slipping toward her ears.
He moved beside her.
“What are you mad about?”
“She knew bad people.”
Daniel put his arm around her.
“She did.”
“And she didn't tell me.”
“You were seven.”
“I could've known some.”
“Maybe.”
“She told me people shouldn't keep secrets that make other people unsafe.”
Daniel closed his eyes.
Rachel had said that.
Often.
“She broke her own rule,” Sophie whispered.
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Adults do that.”
“That’s stupid.”
“Very.”
Sophie wiped her face.
“Are you going to break it?”
Daniel looked at her.
He could have promised no.
Instead he said, “Probably sometimes.”
She frowned.
“But I’m going to try not to.”
“That’s not as good.”
“No.”
She leaned against him anyway.
The next morning, Ruiz had news.
Martin had been under surveillance during the break-in.
He had not entered Melissa’s house.
That did not mean he had not arranged it.
But it meant somebody else was involved.
Daniel thought immediately of Victoria.
Then hated how easy that thought had become.
Victoria had been at her attorney’s office during the break-in, confirmed by cameras and multiple witnesses.
Tara Mills remained hospitalized.
The list widened.
Daniel went to the office because staying still had become unbearable.
Rebecca met him in the lobby.
“Board meeting.”
“When?”
“Now.”
He entered the conference room.
Nobody offered coffee.
Paul Densmore spoke first.
“We’re asking you to take temporary leave.”
Daniel sat.
“Why?”
“The lawsuit.”
“I'm aware of it.”
“The press is connecting you directly to Jack.”
“I was his son. That's not investigative journalism.”
“It’s affecting the company.”
“Have I committed anything?”
“That isn't the issue.”
“It is to me.”
Rebecca said quietly, “Daniel.”
He looked at her.
She did not agree with Paul.
But she understood him.
Daniel looked around the room.
His instinct was to fight.
He had spent eleven years rebuilding something his father damaged.
This company employed 312 people.
His name was on the building.
His decisions were in every contract.
Then he remembered Rachel’s video.
Find out what’s true before you decide who deserves punishment.
He had been treating the company as his.
If Martin’s documents were genuine, perhaps parts of it had never belonged solely to him.
“How long?”
Paul looked surprised.
“Until the initial review is complete.”
“Independent review?”
Rebecca nodded.
“We've contacted outside counsel.”
“Victoria?”
“Also stepping aside.”
Daniel looked at her empty chair.
“All right.”
Paul blinked.
“All right?”
“I'll take leave.”
He hated the relief on several faces.
That was his ugly moment.
He wanted them to be afraid without him.
Wanted the company to stumble just enough to prove his importance.
Then he thought of payroll.
Three hundred twelve people did not exist to validate him.
He stood.
“Rebecca, make sure nobody uses my leave as an excuse to delay payroll or vendor payments.”
“We won’t.”
Paul said, “Of course.”
Daniel looked at him.
“Especially you.”
Paul almost objected.
Then smiled despite himself.
“Go home, Daniel.”
“I don't know where that is this week.”
Nobody laughed.
He packed nothing from his office.
On the way out, his assistant handed him a folded receipt.
“This came for you.”
“What is it?”
“Courier.”
No return name.
Daniel unfolded it.
A diner receipt.
Eleven years old.
On the back:
ASK VICTORIA WHO SAT WITH LINDA THE NIGHT BEFORE SHE DIED.
Daniel did not call Victoria.
He called Ruiz.
That choice mattered.
He was beginning to understand that.
Police examined the receipt.
Fingerprints were unusable.
The handwriting appeared consistent with samples from Martin, though analysis was preliminary.
Victoria came in for another interview.
This time Daniel was not present.
He waited.
Two hours later Ruiz emerged.
“Victoria was with your mother the night before the accident.”
Daniel stared.
“Where?”
“At a motel.”
“Why?”
“Linda had left Jack.”
Daniel sat down.
“What?”
“She left him that night. Victoria helped her.”
“But she went back.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Jack called.”
“What did he say?”
“Daniel.”
“What?”
Ruiz sat opposite him.
“He said he had you.”
Daniel felt the room narrow.
“I lived with them.”
“You were thirteen.”
“I know how old I was.”
“Your mother had taken you to your aunt’s house earlier that day.”
A memory surfaced.
Not because he searched for it.
Because he suddenly smelled the station’s vending-machine hot chocolate.
His aunt had made cocoa that night.
He remembered being angry.
His mother had told him they were having an adventure.
He had complained that he left his baseball glove at home.
Linda promised they would get it tomorrow.
Tomorrow.
Daniel stared at Ruiz.
“I remember.”
“Jack called Linda and said you had gone back to the house.”
“I didn’t.”
“No.”
“He lied.”
“It appears so.”
“She went back because she thought I was there.”
“Yes.”
Daniel stood and walked away.
At the end of the corridor he put both hands against the wall.
For thirty-nine years, one of his earliest memories had been his mother failing to leave his father.
He had quietly resented her for it.
He had never told anyone.
Not Rachel.
Not Sophie.
Not himself in words.
His mother had gone back for him.
For a lie involving him.
Ruiz waited.
“What happened after she returned?”
“We don’t know.”
“She died the next morning.”
“Yes.”
“Where was my father?”
“He claimed he was home.”
“Witness?”
“No.”
“Victoria?”
“At the motel.”
“Martin?”
“Unknown.”
Daniel turned.
“Unknown?”
“Yes.”
“Could Martin have killed her?”
“We have no evidence of that.”
“Could my father?”
“We have no evidence sufficient to say that either.”
Daniel laughed bitterly.
“Thirty years and nobody knows anything.”
“Sometimes that's what evidence gives you.”
“I need more than that.”
“I know.”
“No, you don't.”
Ruiz’s face tightened.
Daniel regretted it immediately.
“Sorry.”
She nodded.
Not forgiveness.
Acknowledgment.
Good.
He was learning the difference.
May you like
That evening, Sophie asked if they could go home.
Police had finished processing Melissa’s house, but Daniel’s home was still being watched.
