Chương 11
Kylie asked for the list of laid-off employees.
Celia refused.
“They are not yours to compensate privately.”
“I only want to help.”
“I know.”
“Then why refuse?”
“Because some of them blame you. Some blame your father. Some blame Hunter. Most blame all of you. Reaching out may help you feel responsible in a useful way. It may not help them.”
Kylie disliked the answer.
She also recognized its truth.
Instead, through counsel, she contributed to a general transition fund administered by the company and the employees’ representatives. The fund provided extended health coverage and job-placement support. Her name did not appear on it.
Hunter found out anyway.
He accused her of buying absolution.
That message she answered.
I am not absolved.
He replied within seconds.
At least you admit it.
Kylie looked at the words for a long time.
Then she blocked his number and required all communication to pass through attorneys.
The criminal investigation moved slowly.
Weeks became months.
Agents interviewed employees. Subpoenas went to banks, email providers, and the fertility clinic. Hunter was not arrested. He continued living in the Manhattan apartment under temporary court orders while Kylie remained with Nora, then rented a smaller place near the park.
People expected her to return to one of her family’s properties.
She did not.
The rental had uneven floors, a radiator that clanged at night, and a narrow kitchen with no room for the dining table she ordered online. She returned it and bought two stools.
Mabel disliked the elevator but loved the park.
Kylie began walking her early, before the neighborhood filled with strollers and runners. She learned which coffee shop opened at six and which cashier added too much milk. Some mornings she sat on a bench and watched Mabel investigate the same tree for ten minutes.
Her life became ordinary in ways marriage had not allowed.
There were still lawyers and accountants, but there were also groceries, laundry, a broken closet rail, and Nora’s children visiting on Saturdays to build structures from couch cushions.
Kylie had spent years attending dinners where every object was chosen. Her rental contained things that simply happened to be there.
She found relief in that.
Isabelle emailed once a month through attorneys, offering updates relevant to the case.
The child was a boy.
Hunter had initially disputed paternity, exactly as he threatened to do.
A prenatal paternity test confirmed he was the father.
Isabelle filed a petition to establish support and custody after birth.
Kylie learned these facts from Mara, who asked each time whether she wanted less detail.
“No,” Kylie said.
She did not want Isabelle’s life. She did not want Hunter’s child. She did not want their story.
But refusing information had once cost her too much.
Elaine wrote letters.
The first arrived three weeks after the dinner.
She apologized without defending Hunter. She described no childhood wound, no fear of failure, no misunderstanding. She wrote only that she had raised a son who believed love could be stored safely beside lies, and she did not know how much of that belief she had taught him.
Kylie read the letter twice and put it in a drawer.
The second contained a photograph of Mabel as a puppy asleep in Hunter’s shoe.
Kylie did not respond.
The third asked permission to visit.
Kylie agreed to meet in a café.
Elaine arrived early and wore no pearls.
They spoke about neutral things for ten minutes: Mabel’s health, Nora’s children, the weather turning warm. Then Elaine folded her napkin into smaller and smaller squares.
“Hunter says you refuse mediation.”
“I agreed to mediation three times.”
“He says the conditions are impossible.”
“He wants me to state publicly that my father caused Northline’s collapse.”
Elaine looked down.
“He believes that.”
“Do you?”
“No.”
Kylie waited.
Elaine continued folding.
“He also believes the company would have survived if the investment closed.”
“It might have.”
“Does that make him right?”
“No.”
They sat with the question anyway.
A milk steamer shrieked behind the counter. Elaine startled and laughed at herself.
“I’m nervous,” she admitted.
“I can tell.”
“I was better at difficult conversations when they were about table manners.”
Kylie almost smiled.
Elaine unfolded the napkin.
“Richard and I are separating.”
Kylie stared at her.
“Because of this?”
“Because of many things. This removed our ability to pretend they were smaller.”
“Did Richard know?”
“Not about Isabelle. He knew Hunter’s finances were worse than he said.”
“How?”
“Hunter asked him for money last year.”
Kylie felt a familiar tightening.
“How much?”
“One million.”
“Did Richard give it to him?”
“Six hundred thousand.”
“From where?”
“Our retirement account and a line against the house.”
Kylie looked away.
“Hunter said it was temporary,” Elaine added. “Richard did not tell me until after the dinner.”
The pattern had spread through families. Houses pledged. Spouses uninformed. Men describing secrecy as temporary.
“Are you financially safe?” Kylie asked.
Elaine’s eyes filled.
It was the first time Kylie had asked her anything with care since the dinner.
“I will be less comfortable.”
“That isn’t what I asked.”
“I’ll be safe.”
Kylie nodded.
Elaine reached into her bag and placed a small velvet box on the table.
Kylie did not touch it.
“What is that?”
“Your ring.”
Kylie stared at the box.
“I left it on the papers.”
“Hunter took it after everyone left.”
“Why do you have it?”
“He gave it to me. He said he couldn’t look at it.”
Kylie almost said that was not her problem.
Instead, she opened the box.
The diamond caught the café light. The ring looked smaller than she remembered.
“You can keep it,” Elaine said. “Sell it. Throw it away. I only thought it should be your choice.”
Kylie closed the box.
“Thank you.”
Elaine wiped beneath one eye with her finger.
“I miss you.”
Kylie’s first impulse was anger. Missing her was another demand.
Then she saw Elaine’s hands.
May you like
They were older than Kylie remembered.
“I miss who we were,” Kylie said.
