Chương 12
I let it pass.
“Paul wants me to say I extorted him,” she said.
“Did you?”
“I told him I would tell Linda if he didn’t help.”
“That is blackmail.”
Warren interrupted.
“My client is not making legal admissions.”
“She asked,” Natalie said.
“You can answer emotionally without characterizing conduct.”
Natalie gave him an exhausted look.
“This is why people hate lawyers.”
“People call us when hatred becomes expensive.”
Grant coughed into his fist to hide a laugh.
Warren removed his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose.
By the end of the meeting, we had no signed agreement.
We did have a narrower dispute.
Natalie would stop identifying Eric as the father. I would not release the report or supporting material. Both sides would draft a mutual privacy agreement. The public statement remained unresolved because Natalie wanted me to say the exposure had been unjustified, and I refused to offer a moral verdict shaped by legal bargaining.
Outside, Grant and I stood beside the parking garage elevator.
“You surprised me,” he said.
“By admitting I wanted to hurt her?”
“By saying it while her attorney was writing.”
“I thought you said facts mattered.”
“They do. So does venue.”
The elevator arrived.
Inside, a man holding a bicycle glanced at us, then at his phone. I saw recognition cross his face. He moved to the opposite corner.
“I may lose the board position,” I said.
“Possibly.”
“Eric may lose the firm.”
“Possibly.”
“Paul may lose his marriage.”
“Likely.”
“Natalie may face criminal exposure.”
“Uncertain.”
“And you?”
He pressed the lobby button.
“My license could be reviewed if she files a complaint. I’m comfortable with my conduct.”
“You attended the party knowing I might use the report publicly.”
“I attended because you asked me to be present if Natalie confronted you.”
“You knew what was in the folder.”
“Yes.”
“Do you regret handing it to me?”
He considered the question until the elevator doors opened.
“I regret that you needed it,” he said.
It was not an answer.
That evening, Eric came to the cottage.
He brought groceries I had not requested and arranged them on the counter as if restocking the refrigerator could establish usefulness.
“You already have eggs,” he said.
“I know.”
“I bought more.”
“I see that.”
He put the second carton beside the first.
We sat outside under the small awning.
The weather had cooled. Somewhere beyond the wall, my father argued with the sprinkler timer.
Eric placed his hands between his knees.
“Paul wants to dissolve the partnership.”
“Can he?”
“Not easily. Our agreement requires valuation, notice, client allocation. It could take months.”
“Do you want to?”
“I don’t know.”
“You hit him.”
“He slept with Natalie.”
“So did you.”
His jaw tightened.
“I know.”
“Do you?”
He looked across the lawn.
“I keep wanting him to be worse than me.”
The honesty disarmed me.
“Is he?”
“In some ways.”
“And in others?”
“He gave you the report.”
“For himself.”
“Yes.”
Father shouted, “Why are you running at midnight?” at a sprinkler that was not running.
Eric almost smiled.
“I miss that,” he said.
“My father fighting machines?”
“Being here.”
“You were here four days ago.”
“You know what I mean.”
I did.
“How is the house?” I asked.
“Too clean.”
“It was always clean.”
“It feels like no one lives there.”
“Someone does.”
He picked at a loose thread on his trousers.
“I started therapy.”
“You already had a therapist.”
“We had a therapist.”
“You stopped attending.”
“I called someone else.”
“Good.”
He glanced at me.
“That’s all?”
“What response were you hoping for?”
“I don’t know. Something that means it matters.”
“It matters if you tell the truth there.”
“I plan to.”
“You planned to stop sleeping with Natalie.”
He winced.
“I deserved that.”
“I’m trying not to keep score.”
“Why?”
“Because I would win.”
He laughed once, then covered his mouth as though laughter were inappropriate.
The sound made me remember our first apartment. We had lived above a laundromat, and the floor vibrated during the spin cycle. Eric used to place a glass of water on the kitchen table and call me over to watch it tremble, as though the laws of physics changed every Tuesday night.
“I did love our life,” he said.
“Past tense?”
“I don’t know what tense applies.”
“Neither do I.”
He looked at his ring.
“I haven’t taken it off.”
“I noticed.”
“Have you?”
I held up my left hand.
The ring remained.
His shoulders loosened slightly.
“Do not read that as a promise.”
“I won’t.”
He read it as one anyway.
Two weeks passed.
The board allowed me to retain my seat but removed me from the county presentation. Daniel mispronounced the name of the motel twice and still secured preliminary approval. I watched the livestream from the cottage kitchen while eating cereal.
My pride hurt more than I expected.
Susan called afterward.
“You would have done it better,” she said.
“He got the vote.”
“That is the point.”
“No. It is a point.”
She was silent for a moment.
“Come to the office Monday,” she said. “No cameras. We have work.”
Public attention shifted, as it always did, to newer disasters.
The reception video continued circulating, but with less urgency. A celebrity divorce displaced us for three days. Then a city official resigned after sending messages to the wrong group chat.
Linda filed for legal separation.
Paul moved into a corporate apartment.
Natalie remained in the condo, though Paul stopped paying recurring expenses. She sold two designer handbags and accepted a temporary position at an event-planning company whose owner either had not seen the video or valued publicity more than caution.
Mother sent her groceries.
Father objected, then drove the groceries himself when Mother developed a cold.
May you like
Families rarely choose consistent principles when someone needs milk.
The mutual privacy agreement stalled because Paul demanded inclusion. His attorney wanted protection against release of the messages and financial records. Natalie wanted continued housing support. Eric wanted Paul to resign from the firm without a buyout.
