Chapter 19 - The Last Time I Saw Derek
Derek looked healthier.
That irritated me.
Some childish part of me wanted betrayal to visibly ruin people forever.
Life was less theatrical.
His shoulder was healing.
He wore a simple blue shirt.
No expensive watch.
No tailored jacket.
We met in a private attorney conference room.
He stood when I entered.
“Emily.”
“Hi.”
We sat.
For several seconds, neither of us spoke.
Then Derek smiled sadly.
“You wore the dress.”
I looked at him.
“How did you know?”
“Photos.”
“Of course.”
“You looked beautiful.”
“Thank you.”
Silence.
“I heard what you said.”
“At the hotel?”
“Yes.”
“A beginning.”
“Yes.”
He looked down.
“I’m glad.”
“Are you?”
“Yes.”
I believed him.
That was almost painful.
“What happens to you?”
“Plea hearing next month.”
“Sentence?”
“Probably several years.”
“You’re calm.”
“I’ve spent most of my life being afraid of consequences.”
He looked at me.
“They’re less frightening once you stop running from them.”
I nodded.
“Clara?”
“We haven’t spoken.”
“You love her.”
“Yes.”
“You keep answering that very quickly.”
“I lied about too many things.”
“Fair.”
He folded his hands.
“I owe you an explanation.”
“No.”
He looked surprised.
“I spent weeks needing explanations.”
“I don’t anymore.”
“Emily—”
“I know enough.”
“You approached me because your father told you to.”
“You stayed because you were afraid.”
“You stole because you convinced yourself partial betrayal was protection.”
“You loved Clara.”
“And some part of you probably loved me too.”
His eyes filled.
“Yes.”
“But I don’t need to calculate percentages.”
I leaned back.
“Love that requires me to ignore what you did is not useful to me.”
He nodded slowly.
“You’re right.”
“I know.”
A faint smile.
“There she is.”
“What?”
“The woman I should have been honest with.”
“You weren’t.”
“No.”
I stood.
He stood too.
“Emily.”
I paused.
“If I could change the airport—”
“You’d stop kissing Clara?”
He swallowed.
“I’d tell you everything before you arrived.”
That answer surprised me.
Maybe it was finally honest.
“I hope so.”
“Do you hate me?”
I considered it.
“No.”
That seemed to hurt him more.
“I hated you at the airport.”
“I hated you when I learned about Dad.”
“I hated you when I saw my forged signature.”
“But hate is expensive.”
“I’ve already paid enough.”
His eyes dropped.
“I’m sorry.”
This time I let him say it.
“I know.”
I walked to the door.
“Emily?”
I turned.
“Was any of it real?”
There it was.
The question I had asked myself a thousand times.
I thought about Sunday mornings.
Road trips.
Cooking disasters.
His hand finding mine in movie theaters.
Four years of moments.
Some manipulated.
Some perhaps not.
“Yes.”
I answered.
“Some of it was real.”
His face broke slightly.
“But real moments do not excuse false foundations.”
He nodded.
“Goodbye, Derek.”
“Goodbye, Emily.”
I left without looking back.
Nolan waited outside.
He did not ask what happened.
He simply opened the passenger door.
Six months later, Derek was sentenced to forty-six months in federal prison after receiving credit for extensive cooperation.
Thomas Voss received a longer sentence.
Several Meridian directors faced separate charges.
Richard Hale went to trial.
The evidence from Northstar was overwhelming.
Conspiracy.
Fraud.
Kidnapping.
Obstruction.
Financial crimes.
And charges connected to my father’s death.
His defense argued that Martin Kessler acted independently.
The jury disagreed.
Richard Hale was convicted.
When the verdict was read, he looked toward me.
I felt nothing triumphant.
Only tired.
Dad remained dead.
Years remained stolen.
No verdict changed that.
But truth mattered even when it arrived late.
Outside the courthouse, reporters shouted questions.
I walked past them.
Nolan caught up.
“Where are you going?”
“Lunch.”
“That’s your response to a historic verdict?”
“I skipped breakfast.”
He laughed.
Then his phone rang.
Business.
Always business.
I shook my head.
Some things never changed.
Others did.
Whitmore Holdings was finally mine.
Not because I married.
Because my thirtieth birthday arrived.
And on the morning the trust transferred, I received one final package from Dad’s estate attorney.
Inside was a handwritten note.
Emily,
Ownership is not the same as purpose.
Decide what these assets are for before they decide who you become.
Love,
Dad.
I read it twice.
Then called Nolan.
“I know what I want to do.”
His first response was predictable.
“How much is it going to cost me?”
I smiled.
May you like
“A lot.”
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