Chapter Forty-Five: The Confession

Adrian told me about his father on a Tuesday.

We were in his office. Felix had just left. The door was closed. I was standing by the bookshelf when he said my name.

"Elena."

I turned. He was looking at a photograph. His father. The one he kept in the drawer.

"What?"

He set it down. He looked up.

"My father didn't die of a heart attack."

I didn't move. I just waited.

"Henry Ashford had him killed."

The words landed. I walked to the chair across from his desk. I sat.

"How do you know?"

"A witness. Someone who worked for Henry. He was dying. He wanted to clear his conscience."

"You believed him?"

"I verified it. Every date. Every payment. Every detail. It was all true."

I looked at him. He looked at me.

"Why didn't you go to the authorities?"

"Henry would have buried it. He has lawyers. He has connections. He has decades of practice at making evidence disappear."

"So you waited."

"I built my case. I prepared. And then you walked into my office."

I didn't respond.

"I wasn't going to tell you," he said. "Not yet. I didn't want you to think I was using your grief to further my own revenge."

"But you are."

He didn't flinch. "Yes. And I'm not sorry."

I stood. I walked to the window. I didn't look at the city. I looked at the glass.

"Your father. What was he like?"

Adrian was quiet for a moment. Then he said, "He was kind. He was patient. He laughed too loudly. He burned toast every Sunday morning. He believed in people."

"And Henry destroyed him."

"Henry framed him. Fraud. Embezzlement. He lost everything. His company. His reputation. His will to live."

"And then he killed him."

"Yes."

I turned. I looked at him.

"We're the same," I said.

He shook his head. "No. We're not."

"We are. We both lost someone. We both spent years planning revenge. We both—"

"No." He stood. He walked toward me. He stopped a few feet away. "You're different. You didn't just lose someone. You died. You came back. You're still fighting. You're still living. I just—"

He stopped. He looked away.

"You just what?"

He didn't answer.

"Adrian."

He turned. He looked at me.

"I just survived," he said. "I didn't live. Not until you."

I didn't respond. I didn't know how.

We stood there. The office was quiet.

"I'm sorry," I said.

"For what?"

"For your father. For everything."

He didn't respond. He just looked at me.

After a while, he said, "I should get back to work."

"I know."

I left. I walked to my room. I closed the door.

I sat on the edge of the bed. I thought about his father. His toast. His laugh. His belief in people. I thought about my mother. Her hydrangeas. Her journal. Her hope.

We were the same. He didn't want to admit it. But we were.

---

The next morning, Daniel was waiting for me in the kitchen.

He was making tea. He didn't hear me come in.

"Daniel."

He turned.

"Adrian told me something. About his father."

He set down the cup. "What?"

"Henry had him killed. It wasn't a heart attack."

Daniel didn't react. He just stood there.

"Does that change anything?" he asked.

"For me? No. For him? Yes."

He walked to the island. He sat down.

"Do you trust him?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Because he told me the truth. Even when it hurt. Even when it made him look weak."

Daniel looked at me. He looked at me the way he used to when we were children.

"Okay," he said.

I sat across from him. We didn't speak.

After a while, he said, "We're going to win, right?"

"Yes," I said. "We're going to win."

He nodded. He picked up his tea. He walked to the door.

"Daniel."

He stopped.

"Thank you. For being here."

He turned. He looked at me.

"Where else would I be?"

He left.

I stayed at the island. I thought about Adrian's father. I thought about my mother. I thought about everything that had brought us here.

Then I stood. I walked to my office.

Felix was waiting for me with a folder.

"What?" I asked.

"Julian. We found him."