I returned to Halloway's office the next morning, alone this time, because I understood, reading my father's letter for the fifth or sixth time the night before, that whatever he had meant by a decision about the foundation trust was something he had wanted delivered to me directly, without an audience, the way a man delivers the one truth he has been most afraid to have witnessed.I had not slept, in the ordinary sense of the word. I had spent most of the night at the kitchen table in my own small apartment above the dry cleaner, the twenty-page file open in front of me, reading Renner's confession over and over until the words stopped resolving into new information and simply became, instead, a kind of steady ache beneath my ribs. Somewhere near four in the morning I had finally set it aside and opened my father's letter instead, searching, on the sixth read, for whatever I had missed on the first five, and had found, this time, the particular weight of the phrase
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