Part 6
“Possibly altered. I only saw the first page.”
“And you took his token.”
“I took mine. He kept both in his desk because he said I misplaced things.”
“Did you?”
“Once. Three years ago. I left it in a coat pocket.”
“That does not justify—”
“I know what it doesn’t justify.”
He nodded.
She rubbed her palms against the blanket.
“When I said I was leaving, he locked the gates from his phone. I tried to call our controller. Adrian took my phone. I went toward the atrium because the main doors have a mechanical release.”
“He stopped you.”
“He stood in front of me. We argued. I sat down because my hands were shaking and I didn’t want him to see. He kept telling me to look at him. I wouldn’t.”
Her hand rose toward her cheek without touching it.
“He put his fingers here. Not hard at first. Then harder.”
Elias stared at the carpet between his shoes.
“I stood up. The chair went over. I pushed him. He pushed me back.”
“Did you hit the floor?”
“My side hit the chair arm. Then the floor.”
“Why was he several steps away when I entered?”
“Because I screamed.”
“You said you didn’t scream.”
“I did once.”
Her voice had become flat.
“He stepped away like he had surprised himself. I got my phone from his pocket while he was looking at the chair. I called you. He took it back before I could say anything.”
“The impossible scarf.”
She nodded.
“Did he hear?”
“I don’t know.”
“He disabled the cameras before I arrived.”
Her head came up.
“Who told you?”
“Mara traced the recording system.”
Clara considered this, then looked toward the jacket hanging on the chair.
“The office camera was already off.”
“How do you know?”
“There’s a small status light beside the bookcase. Adrian told me it bothered him during calls.”
“What happened before the atrium?”
“He wanted the token. I said I’d already sent copies of the loan documents.”
“Had you?”
“No.”
Elias looked at her.
“I was trying to get time.”
“Then what did you copy?”
“Folders from his laptop. I don’t know what’s in all of them.”
“To your phone.”
“Yes.”
“The phone he has.”
“Yes.”
“Cloud backup?”
“I turned it off last month because the storage was full.”
Elias rubbed both hands over his face.
Clara’s mouth trembled. “Go ahead.”
“What?”
“Say it.”
“I’m not going to say anything.”
“That’s worse.”
He lowered his hands. “I was going to ask whether you emailed a copy.”
“I didn’t.”
“Then we deal with what exists.”
She stared at him, unconvinced.
“You always sound calm when you’re angriest,” she said.
“I’m not angry with you.”
“You’re angry at the part of me that made this difficult.”
“No.”
“You are. It’s all right. I’m angry at her too.”
Elias stood and walked to the small coffee machine. He opened the plastic basket, closed it, then opened it again. There was no reason to make coffee at three in the morning. He did it anyway.
Behind him, Clara said, “I didn’t tell you because I knew what you would become.”
He poured water into the machine.
“What would I become?”
“This.”
He pressed the button.
The machine made a grinding sound disproportionate to its size.
“You called me,” he said.
“Because I needed someone who could get through the gates.”
“Not because I’m your father.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“You didn’t have to.”
The coffee began to drip.
Clara’s voice softened. “This is why Mom left you.”
Elias kept his back to her.
“She left because we were unhappy.”
“She left because your idea of keeping us safe took up all the space.”
He watched the thin stream of coffee fill the paper cup.
“Your mother had her own version of events.”
“She told me before she died.”
He turned then.
Clara’s face had gone pale again, but not from pain.
“What did she tell you?”
“That she loved you. That she trusted you in an emergency. That she could not breathe in a life where every mistake became evidence that you should take over.”
The coffee machine clicked off.
Elias placed both hands on the counter.
His former wife, Helen, had died seven years earlier after an illness that made every old grievance seem both petty and permanent. During her final month, Elias had visited most afternoons. They spoke about medications, insurance forms, Clara’s work, and the neighbor’s dog. They did not speak about their marriage. He had mistaken peace for forgiveness because it was easier.
“Why tell me tonight?” he asked.
“Because you’re already planning the next twelve moves.”
“I’m trying to protect you.”
“I know.”
The simplicity of her answer hurt.
“That’s what makes it hard,” she said.
He carried the coffee to the desk but did not drink it.
“What do you want me to do?”
“Give the token to the police. Don’t investigate Adrian. Don’t call the board. Don’t leak anything. Don’t frighten witnesses. Don’t turn this into an operation.”
“I do not frighten witnesses.”
“You frighten waiters when they forget the bread.”
“I have never—”
“You stare at the kitchen door.”
“That’s different.”
She almost smiled again.
Then she pressed a hand to her ribs.
Elias moved toward her and stopped halfway.
“Do you need the medication?”
“In the bag.”
He found the bottle, checked the label out of habit, and handed it to her without comment.
She swallowed one tablet with water.
“I need a lawyer,” she said.
“I know one.”
“Of course you do.”
“She handles corporate disputes and domestic protective orders.”
Clara closed her eyes. “How can one person handle both?”
“In this valley? Practice.”
This time she did laugh, quietly, and the sound left him more relieved than it should have.
At four fifteen, she lay down on top of the covers. Elias placed the room phone within reach and sat in the chair by the window.
May you like
“You’re not staying,” she said.
“I’ll sit in the hall.”
