Chapter 7
Peter Caine was dead.
Eight years.
Nothing to confront.
That frustrated Violetta when she heard.
Good.
Reality does not preserve villains for closure.
Roland was enough.
But clearing Cassian’s name required more than my anger.
Not legally.
I did not care about courts.
Inside our world, memory mattered.
So I called five retired men who had been present during the original split.
One remembered Cassian demanding the dock manifests before expulsion.
One remembered Roland discouraging him from seeing them.
Another remembered Peter suddenly paying off a gambling debt the week after the theft.
None alone proved everything.
Together?
A pattern.
Then Silas told them what he heard.
Finally I told them what my father had hidden behind his own portrait.
Nobody spoke for a long time.
Old men hate discovering that loyalty was built around an edited story.
One asked:
“Why would Alistair preserve his own guilt?”
I answered:
“Because he knew someone after him might need to do what he couldn’t.”
Silas looked at me.
Maybe.
Maybe Father was simply ashamed.
Both could be true.
We restored Cassian Harrow’s name internally.
Not his old rank.
Not every action absolved.
He had stolen contracts after exile.
Threatened people.
He became bitter.
Those things remained his.
But the original betrayal?
Not his.
That distinction mattered.
Violetta cried when I told her.
Then asked:
“Does this change us?”
Hard.
“No.”
Her face broke.
“Why?”
“Because your father’s innocence does not make Owen’s cage disappear.”
Silence.
“And loving me does not make Roselle disposable.”
May you like
That was the answer she needed.
Not the one she wanted.
