Chapter 17 - What Allison Had MissedAllison spent Sunday alone.
No lawyers.
No accountants.
No sister.
She drove to the old Grant family house outside Annapolis.
It had been empty since Thomas died.
Allison kept it because she could never decide what else to do.
The kitchen still had her father’s chipped blue coffee mug.
Camille’s height marks remained inside the pantry door.
Allison’s own marks ended at sixteen.
She touched the pencil lines.
Camille’s seventh-birthday mark was beside a crooked pink star.
Allison remembered drawing it.
Their mother died when Allison was nineteen and Camille was twelve.
After that, Allison became something between sister and second parent.
She packed lunches.
Checked homework.
Drove Camille to soccer.
Called teachers.
Argued with Thomas when he expected too much.
Maybe Allison had never stopped.
Even when Camille became an adult.
She found an old photograph in a drawer.
Camille at twenty-two, holding a college diploma.
Allison beside her, one hand on Camille’s shoulder.
Thomas smiling.
On the back, her father had written:
My girls. Different strengths. Same heart.
Allison sat at the kitchen table and cried for the first time since the hospital.
Not politely.
Not silently.
She cried until her chest hurt.
She cried for her marriage.
For her father.
For the company.
For the sister who had sat on her husband’s lap.
And for the sister who had once slept on the floor outside Allison’s bedroom because she was afraid Allison would leave for college without saying goodbye.
When the tears stopped, Allison opened her father’s old desk.
Inside was a stack of birthday cards he never mailed.
Thomas had been terrible about mail.
One was addressed to Camille.
Never sent.
The year before his death.
Allison knew she should not read it.
Then she remembered Camille had spent years believing their father loved her less.
She called her.
“I found something.”
Camille came forty minutes later.
She stopped in the kitchen doorway.
Neither sister had been in the house together since the funeral.
Allison held out the envelope.
“It’s yours.”
Camille recognized Thomas’s handwriting.
Her hands shook.
She opened it.
Inside, Thomas had written that he admired Camille’s creativity but feared she confused independence with refusing help.
He apologized for comparing her to Allison.
Then:
I gave Allison more of the company because she built her career inside it, not because she is more my daughter. I hope one day you believe that.
Camille sobbed.
She sat down.
Allison remained standing.
“He should have sent it.”
“Yes.”
“I should have asked him.”
“Yes.”
“I wasted years being angry.”
Allison looked at the pantry door.
“We all wasted things.”
Camille wiped her face.
“Why are you showing me this?”
“Because truth shouldn’t be punishment.”
Camille stared.
“That doesn’t mean I forgive you.”
“I know.”
“That doesn’t mean you come back into my life because Dad loved you.”
“I know.”
Allison almost smiled.
“There are those words again.”
Camille gave a broken laugh through tears.
For the first time in weeks, the sound did not make Allison angry.
Her phone rang.
Mara.
Allison answered.
“We found the Stoneharbor intermediary,” Mara said.
“What intermediary?”
“The person who introduced Derek to Stoneharbor.”
Allison felt tension return.
“Who?”
“Not someone from the company.”
“Then who?”
Mara paused.
“Derek’s older brother, Paul.”
Allison closed her eyes.
Another person.
Another branch.
“No.”
“Before you worry, we don’t have evidence Paul participated in the fraud.”
“Then why does he matter?”
“He’s a commercial broker. He made the introduction two years ago.”
“Did he know Wellington wasn’t for sale?”
“According to his email, yes.”
Allison frowned.
“What did Derek tell him?”
Mara read from the message.
Allison will change her mind when the numbers are right. I know how to get her there.
Allison looked at Camille.
May you like
For years, Derek had mistaken knowing her habits for owning her decisions.
That was about to cost him everything.
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