Chapter 10: The Last Thing Victoria Said
Phil filed the civil complaint in the second week of January.
Tortious interference with business relations.
One count for the call to Sandra Oates at Hargrove & Finch.
One count for the call to Gerald Marsh.
Supporting documentation included Daniel's written statement, the timestamped records from Phil's conversation with Marsh, and Sandra Oates's own written account of the call she had received — which she provided willingly, without being asked twice.
Victoria was served at her office.
Daniel called me that night.
"She's furious," he said.
"I imagine she is."
"She's saying you're doing this to destroy the family."
"She called my landlord and tried to get my lease flagged.
She called my client and told them I'd caused a health incident.
She did that two days before the party, Daniel.
She was already planning it."
A long silence.
"I know," he said.
"Is she going to fight it?"
"Her firm's HR department contacted her this morning.
Apparently using firm connections for personal matters is a policy violation." He paused.
"She's on administrative leave pending review."
I hadn't expected that.
Not that fast.
"I didn't call her firm," I said.
"I know.
Marsh did.
When Phil contacted him, Marsh looked into how Victoria had identified herself on the call.
She implied she was acting in a professional capacity.
Marsh's attorney flagged it."
I sat with that for a moment.
"How are you?" I asked.
Daniel was quiet.
"Honestly?
I don't know.
I've been sleeping in the guest room since Christmas." A pause.
"She told me last night that if I'd handled you better years ago, none of this would have happened.
That this is my fault for letting you think you could talk to her that way."
"What did you say?"
"I said that a thirteen-year-old boy had spent four years eating alone in back rooms because of her, and that I'd let it happen, and that I was going to have to live with that." His voice was flat.
"She told me I was being dramatic."
The word landed between us like something familiar.
"That's what she said to me," I said.
"In the dining room.
'Stop being dramatic.'"
"I know," Daniel said.
"I heard her say it."
"And you didn't say anything."
"No," he said.
"I didn't."
We were both quiet for a moment.
"Daniel.
When you come to apologize to Ethan — and I'm holding you to that — don't bring her."
"I won't."
"And don't make it about what you're going through right now.
Make it about him."
"I understand."
"Good."
Three weeks later, Victoria's firm completed their internal review.
She was not terminated, but she was formally reprimanded and removed from any accounts that intersected with the Marsh Property Group's portfolio.
The reprimand went into her professional file.
Phil settled the civil complaint out of court.
Victoria's attorney made contact in the last week of January.
The settlement covered my documented legal costs and included a written acknowledgment that the calls to Marsh and Oates had been made without factual basis.
She never called me directly.
Not once.
The last thing she said to me — the last thing I ever heard from her — was what Rosalyn had reported from the dining room on Christmas Eve.
*A child who understood his place would never have caused this kind of embarrassment.*
I thought about that sentence sometimes.
Not with anger.
Just as a kind of marker.
Because Ethan did know his place.
May you like
His place was at whatever table his father sat at.
And no one was ever going to tell him otherwise again.
