Chương 2
He had not entered that apartment after the summer of 1996.
“I remember.”
“I went there the day after you left for New York.”
“My father had a stroke.”
“I know.”
“You stopped answering.”
“No.” Her voice sharpened, using what little strength she had. “You stopped answering.”
Maxwell’s eyes narrowed.
“I called every day for two weeks.”
“I never received a call.”
“I sent letters.”
“So did I.”
He stared at her.
Elizabeth shifted beneath the blanket and winced.
“Your mother came to see me,” she said. “She knew I was pregnant. I hadn’t told anyone except my doctor and my sister.”
“Aunt Marianne knew?”
“She was afraid of your family before I was.”
“What did my mother say?”
“That you had told her to handle it. That you were ashamed. That you understood what had to happen.”
“I never said that.”
“I know that now.”
“You believed her?”
“I was nineteen.” Elizabeth looked toward the white flowers. “She brought a letter with your signature. She knew things only you knew. The amount in your checking account. The name of the hotel where we stayed in Vancouver. The fight we had about your father.”
“My mother knew all of that.”
“Yes.”
“What did the letter say?”
“That you wanted no contact. That if I tried to interfere with your future, the consequences would not fall only on me.”
Maxwell’s voice dropped.
“What consequences?”
“My father’s business had taken loans from a bank your family controlled. He had signed personal guarantees. Your mother showed me the documents. She said the loans could be called by Friday.”
“Did she pay you?”
Elizabeth closed her eyes.
“Yes.”
The answer struck him in a place that anger could reach more easily than grief.
“How much?”
“Don’t.”
“How much?”
“Two hundred thousand dollars.”
He sat back.
In 1996, two hundred thousand dollars had been enough to clear the Winters family’s debts, pay for Nora’s birth, and buy a small house outside Tacoma. It was also exactly the kind of number his mother would have chosen: large enough to change the life of a frightened nineteen-year-old, small enough to disappear inside a Rothschild family office expense report.
“You took it.”
Elizabeth looked at him again.
“My father kept his business. My mother kept her house. I kept your daughter.”
“You could have come to me later.”
“I tried.”
“When?”
“After Nora was born. Then when she was three. Again when she was eleven.”
“And?”
“The first time, your mother’s lawyer came. The second time, someone broke into my apartment without taking anything. The third time, Nora was followed home from school.”
Maxwell stood so abruptly that the chair shifted backward.
“Who followed her?”
“I never found out.”
“You should have gone to the police.”
“I did. They said a car driving slowly near a school wasn’t a crime.”
“You should have called me.”
“I called the main office. I wrote to your home. I sent a letter to your foundation.”
“And I saw none of it.”
“No.”
His black smartphone remained silent inside his jacket pocket. He could feel its rectangular weight against his ribs, a device through which governments, directors, and heads of companies could reach him at any hour. Yet Elizabeth and Nora had apparently spent decades failing to get past people paid to decide whose voices deserved to enter his life.
Elizabeth coughed. The effort bent her body slightly beneath the blanket.
Maxwell reached for the water cup on her tray, then stopped because he did not know whether she was allowed to drink. The nurse appeared almost immediately, adjusted the bed, and moistened Elizabeth’s lips with a sponge. Maxwell stepped aside.
When the coughing eased, Elizabeth’s eyes searched for him.
“There’s a box,” she said. “Dana has the key.”
“What box?”
“Letters. Copies. Things Nora kept.”
“Where?”
“Safe deposit box.”
“At what bank?”
“Dana knows.”
Maxwell looked toward the door.
“Why does a hospital social worker know?”
“Because I asked her to help the girls, and she listened before asking what I could pay.”
The nurse glanced at Maxwell, then back at the IV line.
He felt the rebuke even though Elizabeth had not raised her voice.
“What happened to Nora?”
“A collision on Interstate Five. A delivery truck crossed the median.”
“Was she alone?”
“Yes.”
“Where were the girls?”
“With me.”
“And their father?”
Elizabeth’s mouth tightened.
“Not in their lives.”
“Dead?”
“No.”
“Then they have someone.”
“He signed away his rights after Lily was born. He hasn’t seen them since they were fourteen months old.”
“Why?”
“Because some people leave without needing a conspiracy.”
Maxwell turned toward the windows.
Seattle shone below them in wet yellow lines. A ferry moved across Elliott Bay, its lights small and steady. He watched it for several seconds because looking at the city was easier than imagining a daughter who hated bananas and could not draw hands.
“Do the girls know who I am?” he asked.
“They know you’re their grandfather.”
“Since when?”
“Yesterday.”
He turned back.
“What did you tell them?”
“The truth I had.”
“Which version?”
Elizabeth studied him.
“The version where you didn’t know.”
He looked away first.
The nurse checked the monitor and quietly summoned a physician. Elizabeth’s breathing had changed. Maxwell heard the difference before he understood it.
“Mr. Rothschild,” the nurse said, “we need to let her rest.”
“No.”
The word came too quickly.
Elizabeth lifted two fingers from the blanket. The movement was small, but the nurse stopped.
“Lucy is angry,” Elizabeth said. “Lily is afraid of angry people, so she smiles. Don’t mistake that for trust.”
Maxwell stepped closer.
“Elizabeth—”
“Nora didn’t want your money.”
“I didn’t say she did.”
“You were going to think it.”
He opened his mouth, then closed it.
Elizabeth’s gaze softened, which was worse than accusation.
“She wanted to know why you never answered.”
May you like
A doctor entered with another nurse. Dana appeared behind them. The room filled with low professional voices and carefully controlled movement.
Maxwell was guided toward the door.
