Chapter 5: The Man on the Christmas Card List
His name was Gerald Foss.
Sixty-one years old, silver-haired, the kind of man who wore a pocket square to client lunches and remembered everyone's wife's name.
Ethan had trusted him with every significant legal document his company had ever produced.
He called Gerald's office that Monday morning and asked for an in-person meeting.
No subject given.
Gerald's assistant slotted him in for eleven o'clock.
Ethan arrived five minutes early and sat across from Gerald's wide mahogany desk and placed the business card on the surface between them.
Gerald looked at it.
His expression didn't change, but his right hand moved to straighten a pen that didn't need straightening.
"Where did you get that?" Gerald asked.
"From the woman you helped threaten eight years ago."
Gerald leaned back in his chair.
"Ethan—"
"Did my mother ask you to do it, or did you volunteer?"
"It wasn't a threat.
It was a legal advisement.
Your mother was concerned that a paternity claim could complicate your business formation at a critical—"
"She was twenty-three years old." Ethan kept his voice level.
"She was alone.
She was pregnant.
And you put your name on a card and let her believe a team of lawyers would come after her if she tried to reach me."
Gerald's jaw shifted.
"Margaret asked me to accompany her as a precaution.
I said very little."
"Your presence was the message.
You know that."
A pause.
Gerald picked up the business card and turned it over once, then set it back down.
"Your mother was very persuasive about what was best for you."
"She usually is." Ethan stood.
"I'll need you to put in writing exactly what happened at that meeting.
What was said, who was present, and what role you played.
I want it on my desk by end of week."
Gerald's eyes narrowed.
"That's not something I'm inclined to—"
"Gerald." Ethan picked up the card.
"I have forty-three trucks, three warehouses, and a fourth location under contract.
Every piece of legal work for all of it has come through this office." He pocketed the card.
"Think carefully about what you're inclined to do."
He walked out without waiting for a response.
His phone rang before he reached the elevator.
Margaret.
He let it ring.
She called again from the parking garage.
He answered.
"Ethan, please.
I know you spoke to Claire.
I know she told you about the visit.
Let me explain in person."
"I'm listening now."
"Not over the phone.
Come to the house.
I'll make dinner—"
"No." He pressed the elevator button.
"You don't get to make this into a dinner.
Tell me right now: did you know Gerald well enough to bring him to San Antonio specifically because Claire would recognize him as my lawyer?"
Silence.
"Mom."
"I needed her to understand the situation was serious."
"You needed a pregnant twenty-three-year-old to be frightened enough to disappear.
That's what you needed."
"I needed you to have a future—"
"You needed control." The elevator opened.
He stepped in.
"I'll call you when I'm ready to talk.
Don't come to the office."
He ended the call.
That evening he drove to Claire's building on Maple Street.
She buzzed him up without asking who it was, which meant she had been expecting him, or at least expecting someone.
The apartment was small and very clean.
Noah was at the table doing homework, his tongue pressed to his lower lip in concentration.
"Gerald confirmed it," Ethan said, once Noah was out of earshot in the next room.
"Not in those words, but he confirmed it."
Claire sat down on the edge of the couch.
"What are you going to do?"
"I'm going to make it right.
Starting with this apartment." He held up a hand before she could speak.
"Not charity.
Back pay.
Eight years of child support I would have paid if I'd known.
I'm not asking for your permission on that.
I'm telling you it's happening."
Claire looked at her hands.
"Ethan."
"What?"
"I'm not angry at you.
I want you to know that.
I was, for a long time.
But I'm not anymore.
You didn't know."
"I should have fought harder to stay in contact after the divorce.
I should have—"
"We were both twenty-four and heartbroken and bad at it." She looked up.
"Your mother made her choice.
That's on her.
Not on you."
From the other room, Noah's voice: "Mom, what's a peninsula?"
Claire almost smiled.
"It's land that's surrounded by water on three sides."
"Why only three?"
"Because the fourth side is still connected to the mainland."
"Oh." A pause.
"Like an almost-island?"
"Exactly like an almost-island."
Ethan looked at the wall between them and the room where his son was doing homework.
The sound of a pencil moving on paper.
"He's remarkable," Ethan said quietly.
"I know." No pride in it.
Just fact.
"I want to be in his life.
Properly.
Not just financial support.
I want—" He stopped.
"I don't want to push.
I know I have no right to walk in and make demands."
"You're not making demands.
You're asking." Claire studied him.
"We'll go slowly.
He knows you might be his father.
He'll need time to understand what that means."
"Whatever pace he needs."
"And Ethan." Her voice changed slightly.
"Whatever you decide to do about Margaret — that's between you and her.
I'm not asking you to cut her off.
She's still your mother."
He looked at her.
"After everything she did to you."
"After everything she did to me," Claire confirmed.
"She's still your mother.
Noah will have to make his own decision about her someday.
But that's not today."
Ethan nodded slowly.
He didn't tell Claire the rest of what he was thinking.
That the lawyer's card was only the beginning of what he needed to understand.
That Gerald Foss had been too calm, too prepared for that conversation.
That a man who had been caught off guard doesn't straighten a pen that doesn't need straightening.
He had done it before Ethan even spoke.
May you like
Which meant Gerald had been expecting this conversation for a while.
Which meant someone had warned him.
