Chapter 10 - THE SON WHO FINALLY BECAME AFRAID OF HIS FATHER
Axel stayed at the hotel that night.
Evelyn did not forgive him.
Forgiveness was not a door she could simply open because the boy finally looked frightened.
But she gave him a room.
She gave him food.
And she listened.
That was more than his parents had given him in years.
Axel admitted Quentyn talked openly about money.
"Not stealing," he said quickly.
"Then what?"
"He'd say everything was eventually coming to us anyway."
"Us?"
"Mom, me, him."
"He told you the house was yours?"
"Yeah."
"When?"
"Years ago."
"How many?"
Axel thought.
"Maybe when I was thirteen."
Evelyn leaned back.
A child raised to believe another person's property already belonged to him.
No wonder he called her a walking paycheck.
It did not excuse him.
But it explained part of him.
"What else did your father tell you?"
"That you were selfish."
"Why?"
"Because you kept control of the trust."
"Anything else?"
"He said Grandpa Thomas didn't trust him."
"Did he say why?"
Axel shook his head.
"He said Grandpa was old-school and controlling."
Evelyn almost laughed.
Thomas had been many things.
Controlling was not one.
"What did your mother say about Thomas?"
"Not much."
"Did she ever talk about the day he died?"
Axel stared at her.
"Grandma, do you think Dad killed him?"
Evelyn answered carefully.
"I think there are questions about your grandfather's death."
Axel looked sick.
"That's not an answer."
"It's the only one I have."
He stood and walked toward the window.
"My dad taught me how to drive."
Evelyn said nothing.
"He came to every baseball game."
Still nothing.
"He isn't some monster."
"Most dangerous people aren't monsters every minute of every day."
Axel turned.
"Do you hate him?"
"Yes."
The honesty surprised him.
Evelyn continued.
"But hatred isn't evidence."
Axel sat again.
"What happens to Mom?"
"I don't know."
"Do you hate her?"
That question was harder.
"No."
"Even after everything?"
"I don't know what I feel about your mother."
He nodded.
Then whispered, "Do you hate me?"
Evelyn looked at him.
"No."
His face crumpled.
It happened so suddenly that Evelyn was unprepared.
Axel covered his eyes.
"I didn't mean what I said."
"Which part?"
"All of it."
"You meant some of it."
He cried harder.
Evelyn did not rescue him from the truth.
"You believed my money belonged to you."
He nodded.
"You resented me for being alive long enough to control it."
Another nod.
"You joked about my death."
"Yes."
"Those things hurt me."
"I know."
"No. I don't think you did."
Axel wiped his face.
"I'm sorry."
Evelyn watched him.
"Apologies are beginnings, Axel. Not erasers."
He nodded.
"I know."
This time she believed him.
At nine the next morning, law enforcement received Axel's recording.
By noon, Livia was officially listed as missing.
Her vehicle was found at the airport.
She had not boarded a commercial flight under her own name.
At three seventeen, Miriam called Evelyn into a meeting.
"There's movement on Thomas's case."
Evelyn sat.
"What?"
"The fisherman who found him remembers another boat."
"Whose?"
"He doesn't know."
"He waited twelve years to mention this?"
"He mentioned it to the original deputy. It never appeared in the final report."
"Why?"
"They're investigating."
"What did he see?"
"A small maintenance boat leaving the area around six forty."
"Who owned it?"
"The marina."
Evelyn's fingers tightened.
"Who had access?"
"Employees."
"Quentyn?"
"Possibly."
Miriam paused.
"And Livia."
Evelyn looked up.
"Livia?"
"The marina manager found old employment records. When she was nineteen, Livia worked there one summer."
"That was twenty-six years ago."
"Yes, but according to access logs, she still knew the owner. She had rented boats there occasionally."
Evelyn felt increasingly trapped between possibilities.
Victim.
Accomplice.
Witness.
Daughter.
Which version of Livia was real?
Perhaps all of them.
That evening, an email appeared in Evelyn's private inbox.
No subject.
The sender address was encrypted.
One attachment.
A photograph.
Livia.
She stood beside a newspaper dated that morning.
Alive.
Below the photograph:
MOM, DON'T TRUST CLAIRE.
Evelyn stared.
A second email arrived.
THE MISSING DRIVE WAS NEVER IN THE BOX.
Then a third.
DAD LEFT IT WITH ME.
Evelyn stood so quickly her chair fell.
Axel rushed in.
"What happened?"
She turned the laptop.
He read.
"Mom?"
Evelyn's pulse pounded.
A fourth email appeared.
QUENTYN THINKS I HAVE DRIVE F.
A fifth.
May you like
HE IS RIGHT.
Then nothing.
