Chapter 11
Leo broke down later.
Not at the confession.
Not at the ledger.
At lunch.
Lily stole one of his fries.
He stared at her.
Then started crying.
Hard.
She froze with the fry halfway to her mouth.
“Leo?”
He covered his face.
I sat beside him.
Did not touch until he leaned toward me.
“He’d still be here.”
I knew who.
Adrian.
“No.”
Leo looked furious.
“If you listened—”
“I know.”
“If Thomas spoke—”
“I know.”
“If Grant refused—”
“I know.”
“If Marcus—”
“Yes.”
That one.
Marcus.
Leo’s anger needed somewhere to land.
But I would not let him turn uncertainty into an alternate universe where one changed sentence guaranteed Adrian lived.
“We know what people chose.”
I spoke carefully.
“We don’t know every version of what might have happened.”
Leo hated that.
Truth is sometimes unsatisfying.
Then he whispered:
“Dad thought you wouldn’t believe him.”
My throat tightened.
“Yes.”
“Was he right?”
“For too long.”
That answer hurt.
I did not protect myself from it.
Leo wiped his face.
“I thought you didn’t care about me after Lily.”
I looked at him.
“I’m sorry.”
He shrugged angrily.
“No, you didn’t say it. Marcus did.”
“He could say it because I left enough empty space for it to sound possible.”
That was mine.
After Adrian died, I assumed giving Leo freedom was respectful.
Maybe some of it was avoidance.
I was twenty-five.
New boss.
New guardian.
Terrified of replacing my brother.
So I stood farther away than Leo needed.
Marcus filled the gap.
Understanding did not make me Adrian.
It made me responsible for being better now.
Lily finally handed Leo the stolen fry.
“For you.”
He laughed through tears.
“Thanks.”
She hugged his arm.
No concern for inheritance.
No branch politics.
No hierarchy.
Just a little girl trying to fix a crying teenager with potato.
May you like
Marcus had spent six years trying to make them competitors.
He lost to a french fry.
