CHAPTER 206: Riverside

POV: Selene Castellano

She called Nadia the same morning.

“Jonathan Pierce set up a legal aid trust before he died,” Selene said. “It’s been sitting dormant for thirty years. It was just activated with the Whitmore settlement money. 2.3million dollars and growing.”

Nadia was quiet for a moment.

“That’s exactly what the land trust needs,” she said. “Independent legal representation for community members. I’ve been trying to build a funding model for this for six months.”

“I know,” Selene said. “That’s why I called you first.”

“What are the trust’s restrictions,” Nadia said.

“Legal aid connected to corporate malfeasance related to Pierce Holdings’ historical operations,” Selene said. “It’s narrow but it fits perfectly. The displacement bonds, the land trust disputes, anything connected to the original harm.”

“This changes everything,” Nadia said. “I can build a permanent legal aid clinic instead of the patchwork solution I’ve been cobbling together.”

“Draft a proposal,” Selene said. “Bring it to the board Thursday.”

Amara called an emergency meeting for Wednesday afternoon.

The corner office was full—Avalon, James, Nadia, Amara, Selene with Elena in the carrier —all gathered around the table where a proposal sat, printed and ready.

“The Riverside Legal Aid Trust,” Nadia began, “funds a permanent legal clinic embedded within the foundation. Staffed by two attorneys initially, expanding to four within eighteen months. Focused exclusively on housing, displacement, and community land rights.”

“Independent from the foundation’s governance,” James said, reading through the structure. “Reporting to the oversight committee directly, not to Amara or Selene.”

“That’s intentional,” Nadia said. “The trust’s original language specifies independence. Jonathan Pierce wanted it separate from any potential conflict of interest with Pierce Holdings’ ongoing operations.”

Avalon looked at the document.

“He anticipated exactly this,” he said quietly. “That someday the company might need to fund something it also needed to be held accountable for.”

“Yes,” Nadia said.

Amara looked around the table.

“All in favour,” she said.

Every hand went up.

That evening, Avalon sat in the nursery with Elena, the print on the wall catching the last light of the day — Robert. Elena. Lorraine.

He thought about adding a fourth name.

Jonathan.

Not for Elena but just as an acknowledgement. A quiet mark somewhere in their home for a man who had built something real and never lived to see it matter.

Selene appeared in the doorway.

“You’re thinking about the print,” she said.

“How did you know,” he said.

“You get a specific look,” she said. “The one where you’re deciding whether something belongs somewhere.”

He looked at Elena, asleep against his chest.

“I want to add his name,” he said. “Not as a name for a future child. Just — somewhere. Some sort of acknowledgement that he built something none of us knew about until now.”

Selene came and sat beside him.

“Do it,” she said.

“Where,” he said.

She looked at the print.

“Add a line underneath,” she said. “In memory of Jonathan Pierce, who built the answer before anyone asked the question.”

He looked at her.

“That’s exactly right,” he said.

“I’ve been practising,” she said.

He smiled.

His phone buzzed.

Margaret.

“The Riverside Trust paperwork is finalised,” she said. “Officially merged into the foundation’s legal aid structure. It’s done.”

“Thank you, Margaret,” he said.

“There’s one more thing,” she said. “In going through the original trust documents, we found something attached. A letter. From your father. Addressed to whoever eventually activated the trust.”

Avalon went very still.

“Do you have it,” he said.

“I’m sending it now,” Margaret said.

The email arrived thirty seconds later.

He opened it with Selene watching over his shoulder.

To whoever reads this,

If you’re reading this letter, it means the trust was activated, which means something I suspected about this company came true. I’m sorry for that. I’m sorry it took harm happening for this money to become useful. I’m glad, whoever you are, that you’re using it to fix something rather than just acknowledging it happened.

I don’t know what my life will look like when this activates. Maybe I’ll be old and grey, embarrassed by how dramatic this letter sounds. Maybe something else entirely. Either way — thank you for finishing what I started. Thank you for not looking away.

Jonathan Pierce

The nursery was very quiet.

Avalon read it again.

Selene put her hand on his shoulder.

“He knew,” Avalon said quietly. “He suspected the displacement bonds before anyone else did.”

“And he built the mechanism to fix it,” Selene said, “even not knowing if he’d survive to see it used.”

“He didn’t survive,” Avalon said.

“But you did,” Selene said. “Elena will. The foundation will.”

He looked at his daughter.

At everything connecting across thirty years.

“Thank you for not looking away,” he read again quietly.

“You didn’t,” Selene said. “None of us did.”