Chapter 7

I met Richard for coffee.

He looked older. Tired. His wife and daughter and son were all in prison. His company was gone. His name was ruined.

"Claire," he said, standing up when I walked in. "Thank you for meeting me."

We sat down. He didn't touch his coffee.

"I owe you an apology," he said. "I knew something was wrong. I knew Margaret and Vanessa were… difficult. I knew they treated you badly at that dinner. I should have stopped it. I should have defended you. I didn't. And I'm sorry."

I looked at him. He seemed genuine. Broken, but genuine.

"Why didn't you?" I said. "Why didn't you stop them?"

He closed his eyes. "Because I was weak. Because Margaret controlled everything. The money, the company, the family. I let her. I told myself it was easier to look away. And by the time I realized what was really happening, it was too late."

He paused.

"Daniel called me from prison. He asked me to tell you he's sorry. That he knows what he did. That he wishes he could take it back."

I was quiet for a long time.

"Richard," I said finally. "I appreciate the apology. And I believe you. But I can't forgive Daniel. Not yet. Maybe not ever. He chose them. Over and over. He chose cruelty. He chose crime. He chose to lie to me. And I can't undo that."

"I know," he said. "I don't expect you to. I just… I wanted you to know. Not all of us are like them. Some of us are just… weak. And sorry."

I reached across the table and squeezed his hand.

"Then be strong now," I said. "Visit them. Or don't. That's your choice. But live the rest of your life honestly. That's the best apology you can give."

He nodded. Tears in his eyes.

I left that coffee shop feeling lighter.

I didn't forgive the Hawthornes. I probably never would. But I'd stopped carrying the anger. I'd stopped letting them live in my head.

They were in prison. I was free. That was enough.

That night, I got a call from Marcus.

"Claire, there's someone I want you to meet. A consultant. He's working with us on the Hawthorne restructuring. He's… I think you'd like him."

I laughed. "Marcus, are you setting me up?"

"Maybe. His name is Ethan. Ethan Park. He's an architect. Smart. Kind. Divorced. And he thinks you're amazing—he read about the case."

"Marcus—"

"Just one coffee. That's all I'm asking. If you hate him, I'll never mention it again."

I sighed. "One coffee."

"Great. I'll send you his number."

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I hung up and smiled. Maybe it was time. Maybe I was ready.

One coffee. What could it hurt?