[CHAPTER 8]
Daniel came home from Phoenix a different man.
Not a repaired man.
Not a forgiven man.
Just a man who had finally been forced to look directly at himself.
He didn't come to Rachel's house.
He texted first.
I'm back. I won't come over unless you want me to.
I stared at the message.
Then I typed.
Sophie has therapy at four. Her therapist says a short supervised visit afterward might help if Sophie agrees.
His reply came immediately.
Whatever she wants.
That mattered too.
At five-thirty, we met at a children's therapy center.
Sophie saw Daniel through the glass door.
She stopped walking.
Her hand tightened around mine.
“Do you want to leave?”
She shook her head.
“Do you want Daddy to come inside?”
A long pause.
“Yes.”
Daniel entered slowly.
He carried nothing.
No toy.
No candy.
No bribe.
He stopped several feet away.
“Hi, Soph.”
Sophie whispered, “Hi.”
He crouched.
“You don't have to hug me.”
Sophie looked at me.
Then back at him.
“Okay.”
Daniel swallowed.
“I need to tell you something.”
The therapist sat nearby.
Sophie hugged her rabbit.
“What?”
“I did something wrong at Grandma's house.”
Sophie stared at him.
“I should have helped you right away.”
Her little mouth tightened.
“You didn't.”
“No.”
“You were mad at Mommy.”
“Yes.”
“You hit her.”
Daniel closed his eyes for half a second.
“Yes.”
Sophie looked down.
“Why?”
There it was.
The question adults spend years trying to answer with complicated excuses.
Daniel didn't use one.
“Because I made a bad choice.”
“Grandma told you?”
“Grandma wanted me to be angry.”
Sophie looked at him.
“But I chose what I did.”
I felt my throat close.
Daniel continued.
“It wasn't Mommy's fault.”
Sophie glanced at me.
“It wasn't your fault.”
He leaned forward slightly.
“And it wasn't your fault.”
Sophie started crying.
“Grandma said I made everybody fight.”
Daniel's face broke.
“No.”
“She said if I didn't take the picture—”
“No, sweetheart.”
His voice shook.
“You did nothing wrong.”
Those were the same words I'd told her on the porch.
Now Daniel finally said them.
Sophie wiped her face.
“Are you going to live with us?”
Daniel looked at me.
I didn't help him.
“No,” he told her.
“Why?”
“Because Mommy needs to feel safe.”
Sophie frowned.
“From you?”
The question nearly destroyed him.
“Yes.”
Sophie stared at her shoes.
“For how long?”
“I don't know.”
“Do you still love Mommy?”
Daniel looked at me again.
“Yes.”
I looked away.
Sophie nodded as though she had been given enough information.
Then she held out her rabbit.
“His name is Mister Buttons.”
Daniel smiled through tears.
“That's a good name.”
“He helps when I'm scared.”
“I'm glad.”
The visit lasted twenty-two minutes.
Afterward, Sophie told the therapist she wanted to see Daniel again.
But not alone.
Daniel accepted it.
He started therapy the next day.
Not general marriage counseling.
Individual therapy.
A domestic violence intervention program.
Parenting classes.
He told me because I asked.
He didn't tell me to impress me.
At least I hoped not.
Meanwhile, the financial investigation exploded.
Thomas Reed called me into his office.
Rachel came with me.
Thomas had three accountants there.
The number on the first page made my stomach turn.
$2,370,000.
“Missing?” I whispered.
“Misappropriated,” one accountant corrected.
Rachel swore under her breath.
Thomas continued.
“Some funds went into shell companies.”
“What companies?”
“Two are connected to Margaret.”
“And the third?”
Thomas turned a page.
“Hale Consulting.”
My stomach tightened.
“Victor?”
“We don't know.”
“Daniel just met him.”
Thomas nodded.
“I know.”
“Could Victor have been taking money too?”
“Possibly.”
I called Daniel as soon as we left.
He answered on the first ring.
“What happened?”
I told him.
Silence.
Then, “No.”
“You don't know that.”
“Victor wouldn't—”
“You've known him for two days.”
Daniel stopped.
I heard him exhale.
“You're right.”
“Ask him.”
“I will.”
“And don't warn him about what investigators know.”
“Claire.”
“What?”
“I said I will.”
He sounded irritated.
For a second, my entire body tensed.
Then his tone changed.
“Sorry.”
I waited.
“I felt defensive.”
“Yes.”
“I shouldn't have snapped.”
“No.”
“I'm going to call Thomas first.”
That was progress.
Small.
Painful.
Real.
The next morning, Victor called me directly.
“I need to explain Hale Consulting.”
“You can explain it to the police.”
“I already am.”
I sat down.
“What was it?”
“A company Margaret created using my name.”
My skin prickled.
“Without your knowledge?”
“Yes.”
“Can you prove that?”
“I haven't used the name Hale Consulting since 1998.”
“Why would she use it?”
“To create a trail pointing toward me if anyone ever found the missing money.”
I closed my eyes.
Of course.
Margaret had spent decades building exits for herself.
Blame Claire.
Blame Sophie.
Blame Victor.
Blame anyone who stood between her and control.
Victor continued.
“There is something you need to know.”
“What now?”
“Richard discovered the first missing transfer shortly before he died.”
“How shortly?”
“Eleven days.”
My stomach dropped.
“How did Richard die?”
“Heart attack.”
I knew that.
Everyone knew that.
Victor was silent.
“Victor?”
“I am not saying Margaret killed him.”
Cold moved down my spine.
“But?”
“But Richard called me the night before he died.”
I stood.
“What did he say?”
“He said he had confronted her.”
“About the money?”
“Yes.”
“And?”
“He said Margaret told him he would regret humiliating her.”
I couldn't breathe.
“What else?”
Victor's voice became quiet.
“He said he was meeting Thomas the next morning to remove her as trustee completely.”
May you like
Richard never made that meeting.
He died before sunrise.
