Chapter 14
Celia asked to speak to me after eleven months.
I agreed.
Not at my house.
Neutral restaurant.
She looked different.
Less polished.
More comfortable.
No diamonds.
No father’s money.
She placed something on the table.
A small notebook.
“What is this?”
“Every family Dad collected from.”
I frowned.
“I already have the names.”
“Not everything.”
She had spent months talking to them.
Without promising money.
Without asking forgiveness.
Listening.
Some claims were false.
Some exaggerated.
Two were real debts—but belonged to dead adults and had been repaid years ago.
One family had paid Marden three times over.
Another had worked unpaid summers for fourteen years.
The system did not track balance because balance was irrelevant.
It tracked submission.
Celia had finally understood.
“Why bring this to me?”
“So you know I’m not asking to come back.”
Good start.
“I’m asking you to make sure it ends.”
“It already ended in my house.”
“Yes.”
She looked down.
“Not everywhere.”
Wallace still had cousins.
Old properties.
People who believed in the practice.
Celia wanted to confront them.
I asked:
“Why me?”
“Because they’re afraid of you.”
Honest.
I hated the answer.
Useful.
I agreed to one thing.
Not enforcement.
Presence.
She would speak.
I would sit there.
Anyone who chose to continue inherited-debt practices would lose Haversham business access.
Not violence.
Not punishment beyond association.
My house chooses who it works with.
Simple.
Celia smiled sadly.
“You’re still terrifying.”
“I work hard.”
For the first time in almost a year, we laughed together.
Dangerous.
I still loved her.
That had not vanished.
But love no longer got to vote alone.
Before leaving she asked:
“Do you ever think we could…”
I stopped her gently.
“Not now.”
She nodded.
No promise.
May you like
No punishment.
Truth.
