Chapter 9
Thomas Cole still did not understand why I was angry.
That fascinated me.
He called the situation crude.
Unnecessary.
Poorly handled.
But in his mind, the underlying calculation remained reasonable.
“Children are resilient.”
I looked at him.
“She was told not to call her father Dad.”
“That can be corrected.”
“She was introduced as staff.”
“Also corrected.”
“You think everything is reversible because you did not feel it.”
Silence.
He disliked that.
So did Julian.
Good.
I turned toward my son.
“When did you first tell someone Elsie wasn’t yours?”
He stared at the floor.
“Last winter.”
Nearly a year.
I felt my chest tighten.
Not because of Vanessa.
Because of how long Elsie had been participating in the lie.
“How many events?”
“Maybe six.”
Vanessa said:
“More.”
Julian looked at her.
She continued.
“Christmas dinner. The museum fundraiser. My birthday. Two club dinners. Tonight. At least six.”
I remembered photographs.
Elsie sometimes absent.
Sometimes standing with staff.
Sometimes mysteriously sick.
I had believed the explanations because they came from her father.
That was my failure.
I looked at Thomas Cole.
“You knew?”
“Some of it.”
Of course.
Ambitious men rarely demand lies directly when a younger man is eager enough to invent them voluntarily.
Thomas only had to reward the result.
Julian did the rest.
I turned back to my son.
“What did Cole promise you after marriage?”
He stayed quiet.
Thomas answered.
“A seat on our private board.”
Vanessa stared.
Julian closed his eyes.
“And?”
“Shared access to our Manhattan network.”
I nodded.
There.
The price.
My granddaughter’s public identity traded for proximity to another family’s influence.
May you like
Julian had not sold Elsie once.
He had been selling her absence repeatedly.
