Chapter 16
Raymond flew to a country without an easy extradition process.
That was the phrase reporters used.
To me, it meant Nathan’s father had run away before anyone could put handcuffs on him.
Authorities froze several of his domestic accounts.
Warrants were issued.
His businesses were searched.
His face appeared on television.
None of it brought him back.
Ethan saw the news before I could stop it.
He stared at Raymond’s photograph.
“Who’s that?”
I reached for the remote.
“Just someone the police are looking for.”
He looked closer.
“His name is Vale.”
My chest tightened.
Ethan had heard enough adult conversations to recognize it.
“Is he Nathan’s dad?”
I turned off the television.
“Yes.”
“My grandpa?”
I swallowed.
“Biologically, yes.”
Ethan frowned.
“Like William is Dad’s dad?”
The question hurt.
“Something like that.”
“Is he bad?”
I sat beside him.
“He made some very dangerous choices.”
“Did he hurt Nathan?”
I froze.
There are moments when every parenting book becomes useless.
I could lie.
I could avoid.
Or I could give a seven-year-old a piece of truth small enough to carry.
“The police think he may have caused the accident that killed Nathan.”
Ethan stared at me.
“On purpose?”
“They’re still investigating.”
He became quiet.
Then he asked, “Did Nathan know me?”
My heart broke.
“No.”
“Would he like me?”
I pulled him close.
“He would love you.”
“How do you know?”
“Because he already loved the idea of having a family someday.”
Ethan rested his head against me.
“Did he love you?”
“Yes.”
“Do you love Dad?”
I knew he meant Daniel.
“I cared about him very much.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
Seven-year-olds are merciless with truth.
“I don’t love him the way a wife should love her husband anymore.”
“Because he did bad stuff?”
“Because too much trust was broken.”
Ethan nodded.
“Can it get fixed?”
“Some things can.”
“Can you marry him again?”
I smiled sadly.
“No.”
“Okay.”
He seemed to accept that faster than I did.
Then he asked, “Can he still be my dad?”
I chose each word carefully.
“That depends on whether he becomes someone who can be safe and honest with you.”
Ethan nodded.
“So he has homework.”
I almost laughed.
“Yes.”
“A lot.”
“Yes.”
That afternoon, Daniel entered an inpatient treatment program.
Not because a judge ordered it.
Because he asked.
Gambling addiction.
Alcohol misuse.
Trauma therapy.
He signed releases allowing Marcus to confirm his attendance but not his private treatment details.
For the first time, he was doing something without demanding immediate forgiveness.
I noticed.
I did not reward him for it.
Both things could be true.
Margaret, meanwhile, changed tactics.
Her attorney released a statement portraying her as another victim of Raymond.
She claimed he manipulated her for decades.
She denied knowing he intended to harm Nathan.
She blamed the financial crimes on him and Daniel.
William read the statement once.
Then he called his divorce attorney.
“Yes,” he said. “File.”
I looked at him.
“You’re sure?”
He gave me a tired smile.
“I should have been sure thirty years ago.”
William filed for divorce that afternoon.
He also resigned as chief executive of the family company.
That surprised everyone.
Even me.
“Why?” I asked.
“Because the company needs leadership that isn’t thinking about betrayal every ten minutes.”
“Who takes over?”
“A temporary executive committee.”
“Daniel?”
“No.”
“Lauren?”
“If she wants to compete for the job later, she can.”
Lauren looked stunned.
“You’d let me?”
William frowned.
“Why wouldn’t I?”
She laughed bitterly.
“Mom spent my whole life telling me you thought women were too emotional to run the company.”
William’s face fell.
“I never said that.”
“I know.”
The realization hurt both of them.
Margaret had spent decades acting as translator between people who lived in the same house.
She told Daniel what William supposedly thought.
She told Lauren what William supposedly believed.
She told William that the children were fine.
She built walls, then convinced everyone they were doors.
Lauren wiped her eyes.
“I don’t know if I want the company.”
“Then don’t take it.”
William’s answer was immediate.
She stared at him.
“You mean that?”
“Yes.”
“What if I want to teach?”
William smiled.
“Then teach.”
Lauren started crying.
William did too.
I left them alone.
That evening, Julia called.
The witness from Nathan’s crash had been found.
His name was Paul Greene.
He was seventy-two now.
Retired.
Living three states away.
He remembered everything.
Especially the man who came to his house two days after the accident.
“What man?” I asked.
Julia looked grim.
“Paul says the man identified himself as an insurance investigator.”
“Was he?”
“No.”
“What did he want?”
“To convince Paul he had mistaken what he saw.”
My skin went cold.
“Did he threaten him?”
“Not directly.”
“What does that mean?”
“He mentioned Paul’s daughter by name.”
I closed my eyes.
Of course.
“He told Paul accidents happen to families every day.”
William swore.
“Can Paul identify him?”
“He identified a photograph.”
“Who?”
Julia looked at me.
“One of Raymond’s longtime security contractors.”
I gripped the table.
“Then arrest him.”
“They are.”
“What about Margaret?”
“The recordings are damaging.”
“Damaging?”
“She knew Raymond planned to scare Nathan. The question is whether prosecutors can prove she understood how dangerous that plan was.”
William whispered, “She understood.”
Julia nodded.
“Maybe. But criminal charges require evidence, not our certainty.”
I hated that sentence.
The law moved slower than fear.
The next day, federal agents arrested the security contractor.
By evening, he had requested a lawyer.
By morning, he wanted a deal.
He admitted approaching Paul.
He admitted destroying business records.
He admitted helping Raymond move money.
Then he said something none of us expected.
Raymond had not fled alone.
Someone had met him at the private airfield.
A woman.
Security cameras captured her from behind.
Julia showed us the still image.
My blood ran cold.
The coat.
The posture.
The handbag.
Lauren whispered first.
“That’s Mom.”
But Margaret had attended a court hearing that same afternoon.
She could not have been at the airport.
We looked closer.
The woman turned slightly in another frame.
May you like
It was not Margaret.
It was Vanessa.
