Emily sat beside him.
She stood the instant she saw me.
“Mom.”
I crossed the room and slapped her.
Everyone froze.
Then I pulled her into my arms.
She collapsed against me.
“I’m sorry.”
“I know.”
For once, I meant it differently.
Thomas watched silently.
Michael glared at him.
“You threatened my family.”
Thomas frowned.
“No.”
“You photographed Margaret.”
“No.”
“You changed the policy.”
“No.”
“Then why bring Emily here?”
Thomas looked at my daughter.
“I didn’t bring her.”
Emily wiped her tears.
“I came here voluntarily.”
I stared.
“What?”
“She found me,” Thomas said.
“Why?”
Emily looked at Michael.
“Because Dad left a storage key.”
Michael frowned.
“I never gave you one.”
“It was taped behind the lining of your old briefcase.”
“What storage unit?”
“One in Evanston.”
Inside it, Emily had found boxes.
Bank records.
Names.
Dates.
Property documents.
A handwritten ledger connecting dozens of old companies to the network Michael witnessed in 1980.
