Chapter Ninety-One: The Investigation

The folder from Thomas Kane sat on my desk for two days before I opened it.

Not because I was afraid. Not because I was avoiding it. Because I wanted to be ready. I wanted to be clear-headed. I wanted to read it without Adrian's grief in the room, without Daniel's hope, without anyone's expectations but my own.

On the third morning, I opened it.

The first document was a letter. Thomas had written it fifteen years ago, the week after Adrian's father died. It was never sent. It was addressed to Adrian.

I'm sorry. I should have been there. I should have protected him. I should have done something. I'm leaving because I don't know what else to do. I'm leaving because I'm afraid. I'm leaving because if I stay, I'll get you killed too.

Don't look for me. Don't try to find me. Live your life. Forget I exist.

I'm sorry.

—Uncle Thomas.

I set it down. I picked up the next document.

A police report. Filed in a small town in the south of France. A man named Thomas Kane had reported a break-in. Nothing was stolen. Nothing was damaged. But he'd told the police he was being followed.

The report was dated three years after he disappeared.

I picked up the next document. A photograph. Thomas standing outside a courthouse. He looked older. Thinner. Scared. The photograph was dated eight years ago.

I picked up the next document. Another letter. Never sent. Addressed to Adrian.

I found something. Something that could help. I'm going to try. I'm going to try to make it right.

I don't know if I'll succeed. I don't know if I'll survive. But I'm going to try.

I'm sorry I wasn't there. I'm sorry I left. I'm sorry for everything.

—Uncle Thomas.

I set the letter down. I picked up the next document. And the next. And the next.

By the time I finished, the sun had moved. The city was awake. The clock read noon.

Thomas Kane had spent fifteen years trying to make it right. He'd gathered evidence. He'd tracked Henry's associates. He'd documented everything. He'd done it alone. He'd done it scared. He'd done it anyway.

He wasn't a coward. He was a man who had made a mistake and spent the rest of his life trying to fix it.

I picked up my phone. I called Adrian.

---

He was in his office when I got there.

He was on the phone. He hung up when he saw me.

"You read it," he said.

"Yes."

"And?"

I sat across from him. I folded my hands on his desk.

"He spent fifteen years trying to make it right. He gathered evidence. He tracked Henry's associates. He documented everything. He did it alone. He did it scared. He did it anyway."

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

"He's not a coward," I said. "He's a man who made a mistake and spent the rest of his life trying to fix it."

He was quiet for a long time. Then he said, "I don't know if I can forgive him."

"You don't have to."

He looked at me. He looked at me the way he had a hundred times before.

"But you understand him," he said.

"I do."

He nodded. He didn't say anything else.

I stood. I walked to the door. I paused.

"Adrian."

He looked up.

"He's still here. He's still in the city. If you want to see him, he's at the Regent Hotel. Room 412."

He didn't respond.

I left.

---

That afternoon, I found Daniel in the living room.

He was sitting on the couch. He was reading. He looked up when I entered.

"You okay?" he asked.

"I am. Actually."

I sat beside him.

"I read the folder. From Adrian's uncle."

"And?"

"He spent fifteen years trying to make it right. He gathered evidence. He tracked Henry's associates. He documented everything."

Daniel looked at me. He didn't speak.

"He's not a coward. He's a man who made a mistake and spent the rest of his life trying to fix it."

Daniel was quiet for a moment. Then he said, "That sounds like someone else I know."

I looked at him. He looked at me.

"Dad," he said. "He made a mistake. He spent fifteen years hiding. He didn't try to fix it."

"No. He didn't."

"But you understand him anyway."

"I do."

Daniel nodded. He didn't say anything else.

We sat there. The city hummed outside. The clock ticked.

After a while, he said, "I'm glad you're my sister."

I looked at him. He looked at me.

"I'm glad you're my brother," I said.

He nodded. He picked up his book. He walked to his room.

I stayed on the couch. I didn't stare at the wall. I didn't think about the past.

I thought about the future. And for the first time, I wasn't afraid of it.

---

That evening, I found Adrian in his office.

He was on the phone. He hung up when he saw me.

"You went to see him," I said.

He didn't respond.

"You went to see Thomas."

He looked at me. He didn't blink.

"Yes."

"And?"

He was quiet for a moment. Then he said, "I don't know."

I walked to him. I stopped a few feet away.

"What did he say?"

"He said he was sorry. He said he should have been there. He said he should have protected my father."

"And what did you say?"

He looked at me. His eyes were dark. Unreadable.

"I said I didn't know if I could forgive him."

"What did he say?"

"He said he didn't expect me to."

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

He reached for my hand. He took it. His fingers were warm. Steady.

"I'm glad you went," I said.

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

"Thank you," he said.

"For what?"

"For understanding."

I looked at him. He looked at me.

"Always," I said.

We stood there. The city hummed. The clock ticked.

I didn't lean my head against his shoulder. I didn't close my eyes. I just stood there. And for the first time in a long time, I didn't need anything else.