CHAPTER 143: Her Name

POV: Avalon Pierce

He wrote it himself.

It wasn't Margaret, or the team that handles communications for the foundation, or even a lawyer who reviews language to make sure it doesn't get them in trouble.

Him. Alone. In the study at midnight with the lamp on and his father’s photograph on the wall and Nene’s final letter in the drawer beside him.

He wrote seven drafts.

Deleted six.

The seventh was two paragraphs.

He showed Selene at breakfast.

She stood at the counter, wearing her robe, and held a cup of coffee in one hand as she read.

She read it twice.

Set down the coffee.

“This is right,” she said.

“You’re sure.”

"Read that out loud to me," she said.

He picked it up.

Pierce Holdings, under the leadership of Lorraine Pierce, used financial instruments between 1978 and 1991 that caused documented harm to communities in the Mission, Tenderloin, and Bayview neighborhoods of San Francisco. This harm was real. It affected real people. It contributed to conditions that persist today.

Lorraine Pierce spent the final years of her life searching for a sense of purpose, wondering what she was working towards. The Pierce Foundation is our response to that question. One part of the answer is acknowledging the harm we've caused - we recognize it, and we're dedicated to making things right, both structurally and transparently, in her name. We believe she deserved to own everything she built, including this legacy. By doing so, we hope to honor her memory and create a better future.

He put it down.

The kitchen was quiet.

“She would have written it herself,” Selene said. “ If she’d known.”

“I know,” he said.

“She would have used fewer words.”

“Probably,” he said.

“It’s right,” Selene said again. “ Publish it.”

It happened on a Friday at 9 in the morning.

They didn't make a big announcement or try to get the media involved. Instead, the foundation just updated their website and sent a personal email to all the people they work with, including community partners, board members, and anyone who had ever been to one of their events or applied for funding. This included everyone from those who had sat at the small tables of eight to those who had simply shown interest in their work.

By the middle of the day, it had already been shared 400 times.

By 3pm, two journalists had called requesting comment.

Amara handled both.

The message is clear and straightforward: the details of the statement are self-explanatory, and the remediation plan is already available for public viewing. Furthermore, a community oversight committee has been established and is set to convene for the first time in January, ensuring that the community remains informed and involved in the process.

Kevin Walsh called at four.

“I showed my mother,” he said.

"Hey, what was her response?" Selene inquired, her voice coming through the speaker as they both sat in the office.

“She cried,” Kevin said. “ Then she said it was forty years too late.”

“It is,” Selene said.

"Kevin nodded in agreement, 'She even said better late than a lie,' he added, pausing for a moment to let the words sink in. 'Coming from her, that's really saying something,' he said with a hint of a smile, clearly pleased with the sentiment."

After he hung up.

Avalon just looked at Selene across the office.

By the end of the day, the two organizations that had previously reached out to us got back in touch.

Not to rejoin. 

They simply acknowledged that they had read the statement and were keeping a close eye on things.

That was enough for now.

Margaret called at five.

“I want you to know something,” she said. “ About Nene.”

“Tell me,” Avalon said.

“She found out about the displacement bonds in 2009,” Margaret said. “ I know because she asked me to pull historical financial records that year and I didn’t understand why at the time. She reviewed them herself. She didn’t tell anyone.”

“She knew,” Avalon said slowly. “ For fourteen years.”

Margaret's words hung in the air, a mix of sadness and accusation. "She knew," she repeated, her voice barely above a whisper. The weight of that knowledge had haunted her, and it wasn't just about Jonathan or Whitmore - it was about the company, its actions, and the consequences of what she had created. The burden of what she'd built on seemed to bear down on her, a constant reminder of the past.

The office was very quiet.

“She was trying to answer it,” Selene said. 

Margaret spoke softly, "She didn't have any more time, so she gave it to you."

That evening he went to the hallway.

Stood between the two photographs.

His father laughing.

Nene was young when Robert Laine placed his hand on her back, it was the day they got married and filed the necessary papers.

He stared at them, his eyes fixed on theirs for what felt like an eternity.

He spoke in a hushed tone, his words barely above a whisper. 'She was aware of the bonds,' he said, 'and the weight they carried. But she couldn't find a way to break free, to mend the cracks that had formed. And then, time slipped away from her.' He fell silent for a moment, collecting his thoughts. 'We're trying to fix it now, to make things right. But it's not going to be easy, or cheap. There's a price to pay, and we're paying it.' His eyes locked onto his father's, seeking guidance, seeking validation. 'You would have said the same, wouldn't you? That the only solutions that truly matter are the ones that come at a cost. That anything worth having is worth fighting for, worth sacrificing for.'"

The hallway said nothing.

It didn't feel as empty as you thought it would.

He turned off the light and went back to Selene.

She was still on the kitchen floor.

He sat across from her.

“The baby,” she said quietly. “ I keep thinking about the baby.”

“What about them.”

"She wondered if they would be proud of what they had accomplished, if they would understand the sacrifices that had been made and the reasons behind them."

He looked at her.

“They’ll know,” he said. “ Because we’ll tell them. Everything. The bonds and the acknowledgement and Kevin Walsh’s grandfather and Nene’s question and all of it.” He paused. “ No managed information. No deciding what they can handle. Everything.”

She looked at him.

“You’re learning,” she said.

“Slowly,” he said. “ Then all at once.”

She reached across and placed a small kiss on his lips.