Chapter 8: The Things He Said When He Had Nothing Left
Julian found her in the lobby.
She was waiting for the elevator, Thomas's car seat in one hand, the leather folder in the other.
Diane was parking the car two blocks away and had texted that she'd be five minutes.
Julian crossed the marble floor quickly.
He was alone.
His jacket was slightly wrong, the way clothing goes when the person wearing it has been sitting rigid for ninety minutes.
"Elena."
She turned.
"You humiliated me," he said.
"In front of my father.
In front of the entire board."
"You humiliated yourself," she said.
"I just made sure there were witnesses."
"This isn't over." His voice was low, controlled, the way it got when he was trying to sound dangerous rather than frightened.
"My attorneys will challenge the vacated settlement.
They'll argue the paternity ruling.
They'll—"
"Julian." She set the car seat down gently on the marble floor.
"Your attorneys have already received the full documentation package.
The conflict-of-interest filing has been referred to the state bar.
The three unauthorized board votes have been flagged to the SEC for review." She looked at him steadily.
"You can challenge.
You can spend the next two years in depositions.
You can make this as long and as expensive as you want." She paused.
"Or you can negotiate in good faith, honor Thomas's legal rights, and keep what's left of your reputation intact."
"You're threatening me."
"I'm describing your options.
There's a difference."
He looked at the car seat.
At the small shape of Thomas inside it, asleep, indifferent to the marble and the tension and the forty-two floors of glass above them.
"I didn't know," Julian said.
His voice changed on that sentence.
Something in it went quieter and less rehearsed.
"About the pregnancy.
I want you to know that."
"I believe you," Elena said.
He blinked.
He had expected a different answer.
"You didn't know because you had already decided what I was," she continued.
"Fragile.
Infertile.
Finished.
You didn't know because you stopped looking at me long before I left that mediation room." She picked up the car seat.
"That's not an excuse.
But it's the truth."
Julian was quiet for a moment.
"What do you want for him?" he asked.
"For Thomas.
Not legally.
What do you actually want?"
She considered the question.
It was the first honest question he had asked her in years, possibly ever.
"I want him to grow up knowing his father chose to do the right thing," she said.
"Whether or not that's the story he gets depends entirely on what you do next."
The elevator arrived.
She stepped inside.
Julian stood at the threshold, one hand on the door frame, not stopping her and not stepping away.
"Chloe left," he said.
"This morning.
She took her things and she left."
The doors began to close.
"I'm sorry," Elena said.
And she meant it, in the limited and precise way that she meant it — not sorry for what had happened, but sorry that he was only now beginning to understand the cost of the choices he had made long before any of this began.
The doors closed.
She rode down alone, Thomas sleeping against her arm, the leather folder tucked under her elbow.
In the lobby, through the glass, she could see Diane pulling up to the curb.
She walked out into the cold air.
It was sharp and clean and smelled like the city after snow.
Diane rolled down the window.
"How did it go?"
Elena buckled the car seat into the base.
Stood up.
Looked at her sister.
"Arthur stood up first," she said.
Diane closed her eyes briefly.
Opened them.
May you like
"Good."
They drove home.
