Chapter 11: The Last Conversation
Eric asked to meet in person.
Patricia advised against it.
I went anyway.
Not because I was being reckless — I told Patricia exactly where I was going, I kept my phone in my hand, and I met him at a coffee shop on a busy street at two in the afternoon.
I wanted to see his face when I told him what we knew.
He was already there.
He looked like he hadn't been sleeping well.
There was something diminished about him that I hadn't expected — not satisfying, exactly, just strange.
Like seeing a building you'd thought was solid and noticing for the first time that the foundation had always been wrong.
"Thank you for coming," he said.
I sat down.
"I want to settle," he said.
"I don't want this to go to a full hearing.
It's not good for anyone, especially not for—"
"Our daughter," I said.
"You can say her name, Eric."
He stopped.
"Especially not for Sophie," I said.
"You're right.
It isn't good for her.
So let's be very clear about what a settlement looks like."
He leaned forward.
"I know the forensic accountant found the accounts.
I'm not going to pretend otherwise.
But I want you to understand that the LLC was a legitimate—"
"Eric," I said.
"I'm not here to negotiate.
Patricia negotiates.
I'm here because I wanted to ask you one question."
He waited.
"The jars," I said.
"Did you know what you were doing?
When you tightened them.
Did you know?"
He looked at me for a long moment.
Something moved across his face.
Not guilt, exactly.
Something more complicated and less comfortable than guilt.
"I didn't think of it as—" He stopped.
Started again.
"I didn't sit down and plan it."
"But you knew," I said.
He looked at the table.
"I knew," he said quietly.
"I knew it bothered you.
I told myself it was nothing.
That you were overreacting.
But I knew."
The coffee shop was busy around us.
Someone laughed at the counter.
A child ran past our table.
"Thank you," I said.
"That's all I needed."
I stood up.
"The settlement offer is in Patricia's hands," I said.
"If you want to avoid a hearing, respond to her by Friday."
"And if I don't?" he said.
There was an edge in it — the last reflex of a man who had spent years controlling the temperature of every room he was in.
"Then we go to a hearing," I said.
"And Dennis presents his findings.
And the judge hears about the LLC, and the sixty-one thousand dollars, and the joint account you opened with Laura eleven months ago." I picked up my bag.
"Your choice."
He didn't say anything.
I walked out into the afternoon.
May you like
The street was loud and ordinary and full of people going about their lives.
I didn't look back.
