Chapter 22: The Distance Between Them

Monday returned with the brisk efficiency Emma usually appreciated. This morning, it felt exhausting.

She arrived at the nonprofit ten minutes early and lost herself in work before anyone noticed she was quieter than usual. It was easier to count donated backpacks than unanswered questions.

Rachel found her in the supply room, kneeling beside three open cartons. "You alphabetized the notebooks."

"They were already alphabetical."

"So they were." Rachel folded her arms. "That's twice in two days."

"I like order."

"You like avoiding conversations."

"Is there a difference?"

"Usually." Rachel crouched beside her. "You want to tell me what happened?"

"I overheard something yesterday."

"I remember."

"I keep thinking maybe I misunderstood. And every time I convince myself I did," she closed another box, "I remember how it sounded."

Rachel stayed quiet. Sometimes silence invited better answers than advice.

"I don't want to become suspicious of him," Emma admitted.

"So don't."

"It's not that simple."

"No," Rachel said gently. "It never is."

Across the city, Ethan's Monday had begun with lawyers. Then auditors. Then a board meeting that seemed determined to become both.

"The security review remains confidential," Ethan said evenly.

"Shouldn't the board know more?"

"When there's more to know."

"You're asking us to trust an investigation we can't see."

"I'm asking you not to compromise it."

Silence. The chairman finally nodded. "Proceed."

Nathan fell into step beside him afterward. "You didn't mention Bennett Medical."

"No. They'll object more if this reaches the newspapers."

"The investigator has another request. He wants access to archived hospital donations."

Ethan stopped walking. "Why?"

"He thinks someone deliberately buried records."

"For six years?"

"So it appears."

Ethan looked through the glass wall toward the city below. Someone had spent years making sure the past stayed hidden.

That wasn't panic. That was planning.

Emma left work later than usual. The sky threatened rain. Halfway to the subway, someone called her name.

"Emma."

She turned. Her father stood across the street, looking older than he had at the wedding. Not frail. Just tired.

"You finally found me," she said quietly.

"I wasn't sure you'd stop."

"I almost didn't."

He accepted that. "I owe you an apology."

"You owe me several."

"You're right."

Traffic flowed between them, making the distance seem larger than a single street.

"I shouldn't have asked you to replace Olivia."

"No."

"I shouldn't have let you carry that alone."

"No."

"I know saying it now doesn't change anything."

"It doesn't."

His shoulders lowered. "I still wanted to say it."

They found a small café on the next corner. Neither ordered much.

"I heard Margaret came to see you," Richard said.

"She did."

"I wish she hadn't needed to."

"Who was the man asking questions?"

"I don't know."

"You told Margaret you were frightened."

"I am." He met her eyes for the first time. "Not for me. For you."

"What aren't you telling me?"

Richard looked toward the rain starting outside. "Six years ago, after your mother's accident, I made a decision."

"What decision?"

"I thought I was protecting you."

The words landed harder than she expected. "What did you do?"

Before he could answer, his phone rang. He looked at the screen, and whatever he saw there emptied something out of his face.

"Don't answer it," Emma said.

"I have to."

He stepped away. She couldn't hear the conversation. She only saw him listening, then saying one sentence.

"No. She doesn't remember."

He turned and saw her watching him. The call ended.

"What don't I remember?"

Richard stared at the silent phone. For a long moment he seemed about to tell her everything.

Instead he whispered, "I'm sorry," and walked away into the rain.

Emma stayed under the café awning long after he'd disappeared, not angry so much as tired of everyone apologizing for things nobody would explain.

Kingsley Manor was unusually quiet when she got home. Nathan met her in the entrance hall.

"Mr. Kingsley is still at the office. He asked me to let you know he'd be late."

"Thank you."

She started toward the staircase.

"Mrs. Kingsley?" Nathan hesitated. "If there's anything you need."

She smiled politely. "I know."

He watched her disappear upstairs. She looked lonelier than she had in weeks.

It was almost ten when Ethan finally came home, loosening his tie as he crossed the hall.

"Long day?"

"Very."

"There was one development." Nathan handed him a small sealed envelope. "It arrived by courier an hour ago."

"No return address?"

"No."

Ethan opened it. Inside was a single photograph. A hospital corridor. Six years old. Grainy, taken from a security camera.

A young Emma sat asleep in a plastic chair outside an operating room. Standing several feet away, just inside the edge of the frame, was a man. His face had been deliberately scratched out.

On the back, someone had written five words in black ink.

She remembers less than you.

Ethan read the sentence twice. Then a third time.

For the first time since the investigation began, it no longer felt like they were searching for someone.

It felt like someone was watching them back.