Chapter 11: The Last Conversation
Christopher chose a video call.
I think he believed that seeing my face would give him something.
Some angle.
Some read on how far I could still be pushed.
Daniel was beside me.
A paralegal was recording.
Christopher's attorney Warren Fitch was visible in a smaller window to the side.
Christopher looked tired.
Not the kind of tired that comes from losing sleep.
The kind that comes from spending weeks trying to hold a version of yourself together that no longer fits.
"Abigail," he said.
"Christopher."
"I want to resolve this."
"I know.
Your attorney said that."
He glanced at Fitch, then back at me.
"I want to speak to you directly.
Without the attorneys running it."
"That's not how this works," Daniel said.
Christopher's jaw tightened.
"I'm not talking to you."
"You are, actually," Daniel said pleasantly.
"Go ahead."
A pause.
Christopher looked at me.
"I made mistakes," he said.
"I'm acknowledging that."
"Which ones?" I asked.
He blinked.
"I'm sorry?"
"Which mistakes are you acknowledging?
Be specific."
Fitch shifted in his window.
Christopher's expression moved through something — irritation, recalculation — before settling into something flatter.
"The authorization," he said.
"I should have handled it differently."
"You ordered it frozen.
Deliberately.
In writing.
While Nora was in critical condition and I was pregnant." I kept my voice even.
"Is that the mistake you're acknowledging?"
"I was trying to establish boundaries around the finances—"
"Christopher." I waited until he stopped.
"Gwen has the emails.
They're in the record.
You don't need to manage the language anymore."
His hands, visible on the desk in front of him, went still.
"What do you want?" he said.
"I want what Nora wanted.
Accountability.
Not a number and a signature on an NDA."
"That's not realistic—"
"It's the only thing I'll accept." I paused.
"You can settle the civil claim.
I'm not asking you to go to trial.
But the terms are mine, not yours."
Fitch leaned forward.
"Mrs.
Reynolds, a public settlement with admission of liability would expose Mr.
Reynolds to—"
"I know what it exposes him to," I said.
"That's the point."
Christopher looked at me for a long moment.
Something moved across his face that I hadn't seen before.
Not anger.
Not calculation.
Something older and quieter.
"I didn't think she would actually die," he said.
The room went very still.
"I thought the freeze would last a few days," he continued.
"I thought you would come to me.
I thought you would ask me properly instead of showing up at the office making a scene." He stopped.
"I didn't think—"
"You didn't think it would cost her life," I said.
"No."
"But it did."
He didn't answer.
"You froze the authorization, Christopher.
You knew she was in critical condition.
You knew I was pregnant and couldn't navigate the corporate structure alone.
You knew Gwen controlled my access to you.
You knew all of it, and you used all of it to make me come to you on your terms." I paused.
"And she d:ied."
He looked at the table in front of him.
"I know," he said quietly.
It was the first true thing he had said in the entire call.
"Then say it on record," I said.
"Not to me.
To the court.
In a settlement that names what happened and what you did.
No NDA.
No gag clause.
The terms of the settlement are public."
Fitch started to speak.
Christopher held up one hand.
"What else?" Christopher said.
"Full coverage of Nora's outstanding medical debt.
Every bill from the final eighteen months.
Paid directly to the hospital and the care providers."
"Done."
"A formal written apology.
Not a press release.
A letter.
To me, and one to the physicians who co-signed the complaint."
A pause.
"Done."
"And Gwen Lawson is not to face any professional retaliation for her cooperation with this process.
No termination, no industry blacklisting, no legal action from Reynolds Enterprises or from you personally."
Christopher's eyes moved to Fitch, then back.
"That's—"
"She came forward," I said.
"She didn't have to.
She did it because she watched Nora walk out of that lobby and she's been living with it.
Leave her alone."
A long pause.
"Done," Christopher said.
The word fell into the room like something heavy being set down.
Fitch was already typing.
Daniel looked at me briefly.
I gave a small nod.
"We'll have the settlement terms drafted by end of week," Daniel said.
"Christopher, I'd recommend you review them carefully before signing.
There will be no renegotiation after draft."
Christopher nodded.
He didn't look at Daniel.
He looked at me.
"I am sorry," he said.
"For what it's worth."
I looked at him for a moment.
"It's worth something," I said.
"Not everything.
But something."
He nodded once.
The call ended.
Daniel closed his laptop and sat back.
"That went differently than I expected," he said.
"He's exhausted," I said.
"He's been fighting for weeks and he knows he's going to lose.
He just needed someone to let him stop."
"You gave him an exit."
"Nora gave him an exit," I said.
"She built the case so airtight that the only move left was to admit it.
She didn't build it to destroy him.
She built it so he couldn't lie anymore."
Daniel was quiet for a moment.
"She was right about you," he said.
"What do you mean?"
"The instruction sheet.
At the top, where she wrote what she wanted." He paused.
"Below *accountability*, she wrote one more word.
*Abby.* Just her name for you.
Like a reminder to herself of why she was doing it."
I looked at the window.
Outside, Vancouver was grey and cold and ordinary.
"She always called me Abby," I said.
"I know," Daniel said gently.
May you like
I didn't say anything else.
I didn't need to.
