Chương 10
Julian’s attorneys warned that access would require consent, litigation, or both.
Julian wanted to send people to the company’s office.
Mara told him not to behave like someone in a streaming drama.
“You cannot kick in a door because a spreadsheet makes you angry,” she said.
“I wasn’t going to kick it in.”
“You were imagining someone else doing it.”
He looked at her.
She raised one eyebrow.
Instead, they requested preservation of the records and notified Evelyn’s counsel. The new owner agreed to review archived files if all parties signed a limited disclosure agreement.
That process would take days.
Julian flew to Boston on Thursday evening.
He stayed in a hotel instead of the apartment he still owned there. The apartment had been purchased during his marriage to Evelyn and renovated after the divorce until no object remained that she had touched. He had not slept there in three years.
At the hotel, he ordered soup, forgot about it, and found it cold outside his door two hours later.
He watched videos on how to speak to a child about late-discovered parenthood. The presenters used phrases like developmentally appropriate disclosure and child-led pacing. Julian took notes as though preparing for a product review, then became ashamed and closed the laptop.
At midnight, Celeste texted him a photograph of a wooden train set.
Too much? she asked.
Yes, he replied.
She sent a second message.
I already bought it.
Return it.
There was no answer.
Friday’s meeting took place in a family therapist’s office in Cambridge. The waiting room contained soft blocks, books, and a fish tank with one fish hiding behind a plastic castle.
Julian arrived twenty minutes early.
Evelyn arrived exactly on time with Noah.
The boy wore green sneakers and carried a stuffed turtle beneath one arm. He stopped when he saw Julian.
“You came.”
“I said I would.”
“Mom said adults say things and then plans change.”
“That happens.”
“Did your plan change?”
“No.”
Noah looked at Evelyn, who gave a slight nod.
The therapist introduced herself as Dr. Lila Monroe. She had gray curls, bright red glasses, and the unhurried manner of someone who had spent years waiting for frightened people to finish pretending they were not frightened.
They sat on the floor around a low table.
Noah placed the turtle beside him.
Dr. Monroe asked whether he remembered Julian.
“The plane man.”
Julian said, “That is accurate.”
Noah smiled.
Evelyn sat against the wall, close enough for Noah to reach her but not close enough to control the conversation.
Dr. Monroe said, “Your mom told you Julian is your biological father.”
“Yes.”
“What do you think that means?”
Noah shrugged. “He helped make me.”
“That is one part.”
“Did he know?”
“No,” Evelyn said.
Noah looked at Julian. “Why?”
Julian had rehearsed several answers. All of them sounded engineered.
“Because I made it very hard for your mom to reach me, and then other adults made mistakes too.”
“Were you hiding?”
“In a way.”
“From Mom?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Julian glanced at Evelyn.
“We had hurt each other, and I was angry.”
Noah touched the turtle’s shell.
“Are you still angry?”
“No.”
Evelyn looked down.
Noah asked, “Do you live here?”
“I live mostly in California.”
“That’s far.”
“Yes.”
“Do you have kids there?”
“No.”
“A dog?”
“No.”
“A cat?”
“No.”
Noah frowned. “What do you have?”
Julian thought of the silent house above the Pacific, the garage, the art chosen by consultants, the refrigerator organized by staff.
“Too many chairs,” he said.
Noah laughed.
Evelyn covered her mouth, but he saw the smile.
The first meeting lasted thirty-four minutes. Noah showed Julian how the stuffed turtle could retract its head if pressed correctly. Julian failed twice. Noah corrected him with growing impatience.
When Dr. Monroe ended the session, Noah asked whether Julian would come back.
“Yes,” Julian said.
Evelyn’s gaze sharpened.
Julian added, “If your mom and Dr. Monroe agree.”
Noah looked at them. “Do you?”
Dr. Monroe smiled. “We’ll make a plan.”
Outside, rain had begun. Julian held the building door while Evelyn opened an umbrella. Noah stepped into a puddle immediately.
“Your shoe,” Evelyn said.
“It’s waterproof.”
“It is not.”
“It feels waterproof.”
Julian looked at her.
“He argues like you,” she said.
“I was going to say you.”
“You usually did.”
For a moment they stood beneath the awning, close enough that he could smell her perfume, something warm and faintly floral. It struck him that memory had flattened her into a collection of injuries. The living woman before him looked tired. There were fine lines beside her eyes he had never seen. Her hair was damp at the ends. She had a granola-bar wrapper sticking out of her coat pocket.
“I have the letter,” he said.
She became still.
“Serena kept it.”
“I know. My attorney called.”
“She read it.”
Evelyn’s face closed.
“I’m sorry.”
“You have said that.”
“I’ll keep saying it.”
“That does not make it cumulative.”
“No.”
Noah splashed the puddle again.
Evelyn took his hand.
Julian said, “There may be records concerning the photographs.”
“What records?”
He explained the contractor invoices and the archival request.
Evelyn listened without interrupting.
“You think your company hired the investigator.”
“Yes.”
“Under whose authority?”
“I don’t know.”
Her eyes hardened. “Find out.”
“I will.”
“If those photographs came from your people, supervised visits will stop until I understand the risk.”
“I understand.”
“Do you?”
“I’m trying to.”
“That is not the same.”
“I know.”
She looked at him for a moment, then led Noah into the rain.
The archived files arrived Monday.
They contained expense reports, surveillance logs, threat assessments, and twenty-eight photographs of Evelyn taken over six weeks. Most showed her entering office buildings or meeting attorneys. Four showed her at a women’s health clinic.
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The investigator’s notes identified the client contact as Eric Danner, Ward Systems’ former director of security.
The stated purpose was to determine whether Evelyn was communicating with individuals connected to the data breach. The photographs had been stored on a system accessed by Eric and one outside attorney.
