Chapter 8: What My Father Wrote
*Alex.*
*If you are reading this, then things went the way I was afraid they might.
I am sorry for that.
I am sorry for more than I know how to say in a letter, but I will try.*
*I made mistakes with you.
I let Victoria's voice become louder than yours in my house, and I told myself it was keeping the peace.
It was not keeping the peace.
It was choosing comfort over truth, and you paid for that choice for years while I told myself you were strong enough to bear it.
You were.
That is not the same as it being right.*
*The company was always meant to be yours.
Not because you are my son — though you are, and I have never been prouder of anything — but because you are the only one who ever understood what it was built for.
Not the money.
Not the name.
The idea that ordinary people deserve to move through the world with dignity.
You understood that when you were nineteen years old and working the ground crew at Gatwick because you wanted to know every part of it.
I watched you from the terminal window that day and I thought: he is going to be better at this than I ever was.*
*I don't know what Victoria has done or will do.
I know what she is capable of.
I have known for longer than I admitted to myself.
By the time you read this, I hope you have already protected yourself.
I hope you were smarter than I was.*
*The controlling interest was always yours.
I signed the original trust structure in the presence of two witnesses whose names you can trust: Margaret Osei, my personal assistant of twenty-two years, and Dr.
Phillip Crane, who was my physician and my friend.
They were present.
They will remember.
Find them.*
*I love you.
I should have said it more.
I said it in the ways I knew how, which were not always the right ways.
I am saying it now, plainly, because there is no more time for the other ways.*
*Take care of the airline.
Take care of Daniel — he is not a bad man, only a weak one, and weakness is not the same as cruelty.
And take care of yourself.*
*Your father.*
I read it twice.
Then I set it down on the bed and sat very still for a long time.
Margaret Osei.
I knew her.
She had sent flowers to my father's funeral and a handwritten card that I had kept without knowing exactly why.
She had retired two years before he passed, moved to Edinburgh, and I had not spoken to her since.
Dr.
Phillip Crane.
I had met him three times.
A quiet man.
Careful with his words.
I picked up my phone and called Diane.
"I need you to find two people," I said.
"Tonight if possible.
Margaret Osei, former personal assistant to my father.
And Dr.
Phillip Crane, his physician.
My father's letter says they witnessed the original trust document.
The real one."
A pause.
"Alex," Diane said slowly.
"Margaret Osei.
I think I already have a number for her.
She contacted our office two weeks ago.
She said she had information about the estate."
I closed my eyes.
She had been waiting.
She had been waiting for me to find her.
May you like
"Call her," I said.
"Tell her I'm ready to listen."
