Chapter 28
Eli’s statement mattered most.
He came to my attorney’s office one gray afternoon in October, wearing a navy sweater and carrying a cardboard box. I saw him through the glass conference room wall before he saw me. He looked at the floor, then at the box, then closed his eyes as though gathering courage from somewhere deep and old.
When Claire brought him in, he did not sit until I said he could.
“I brought these,” he said, placing the box on the table. “Copies of messages. Bank transfers. Some recordings of Jackson talking about getting you to sign documents.”
My pulse quickened.
Lena, who had appointed herself my unofficial emotional bodyguard, folded her arms. “And you waited until now?”
“Lena,” I said softly.
“No, she’s right,” Eli said. “I did wait.”
He sat down, hands clasped.
“I told myself it wasn’t my business. Then I told myself Maren was strong and could handle him. Then I told myself if I spoke up, my mother would fall apart.” He looked at me. “Every excuse sounded reasonable when I was afraid.”
There was no self-pity in his voice. Only truth.
I studied him across the table.
“Why now?”
He reached into the box and pulled out a small photograph.
It was old, the colors faded warm with age. My father stood in front of a half-built model, smiling beside a young woman with dark hair, bright eyes, and a pencil tucked behind one ear.
Genesis.
Not the Genesis I knew.
This girl wore rolled sleeves and paint on her fingers. She looked alive.
“After that night,” Eli said, “I went through my mother’s office. I wanted to understand. I found this in a locked drawer with letters from your father.”
My throat tightened.
Claire leaned forward. “What kind of letters?”
“Professional mostly. A few personal, but not romantic. He encouraged her work. He tried to get her into a design program. After she left the firm, he wrote one last letter saying he hoped she would not let one mistake become her whole future.”
May you like
Eli’s mouth trembled.
“She kept that letter for thirty years.”
