Chapter 8
Andrew flew to Seattle the following morning.
He went without bodyguards.
Megan noticed.
“That’s new.”
Andrew ignored the comment.
They met inside a quiet hotel restaurant near the airport.
The unopened envelope sat between them.
Megan looked at it but did not touch it.
“What did you mean Elena was trying to get Alex out?”
Megan stared at Andrew for several seconds.
“She wanted distance.”
“From Lucinda?”
“From all of you.”
Andrew felt the words before understanding them.
“What does that mean?”
“It means your wife was miserable.”
Andrew looked away.
Megan continued.
“She loved you.”
“That doesn’t sound like what you're about to say.”
“It isn't.”
Elena had called Megan repeatedly during the final month of her life.
She was worried about Marcus’s influence over Andrew.
She hated the way Lucinda spoke about loyalty around Alex.
She hated bodyguards outside restaurants.
She hated men lowering their voices when Andrew entered rooms.
Most of all, she was afraid Alex would grow up thinking fear was the same thing as respect.
Andrew said nothing.
Megan leaned forward.
“She tried talking to you.”
“I would remember that.”
“You remember hearing words. That doesn’t mean you listened.”
The sentence hit cleanly.
Andrew thought about every time Elena complained that she wanted a quieter life.
Every time he answered:
This is temporary.
This is how the family works.
You knew who I was.
Megan pushed the envelope toward herself.
“May I?”
Andrew nodded.
She opened it.
The letter was dated two days before Elena died.
Megan read silently.
Then stopped.
Her eyes filled.
“What?”
She handed it to Andrew.
Most of the letter concerned Alex.
Preschool.
Clothes.
His favorite cereal.
His habit of sleeping with the rabbit.
Then Andrew reached one paragraph.
I think I’m going to do it Friday after the broadcast. I can’t keep waiting for Andrew to agree that this environment is unhealthy. I’m taking Alex with me for a few days. I need space before I decide what comes next.
Andrew read it again.
Friday.
The night Elena died.
“She was leaving me.”
“Temporarily, maybe.”
“She was taking my son.”
“She was taking her son too.”
Andrew looked at Megan.
Anger rose.
Then stopped.
He had spent his whole life believing anger entitled him to movement.
Now he remained seated.
“Who knew?”
Megan looked at the letter.
“I did.”
“Anyone else?”
“Elena said she made the mistake of asking Marcus for help.”
Andrew’s expression hardened.
“Why Marcus?”
“She thought he could get a car around back without turning it into a family emergency.”
Andrew understood immediately.
Elena wanted to leave quietly.
Marcus knew.
May you like
Marcus had told someone.
Andrew already knew who.
