Chapter 8 - THE CARDS THAT NO LONGER WORKEDEleanor entered the apartment.
She placed groceries on the narrow counter.
Marcus looked embarrassed by the room.
“You don’t have to inspect the place.”
“I’m not.”
“You’re thinking about how far I’ve fallen.”
“I’m thinking about how many people live in apartments like this without calling it a fall.”
Marcus opened the refrigerator.
It contained only bottled water.
Eleanor began putting away food.
“You bought the expensive coffee,” he said.
“I know what you like.”
“That still counts as helping.”
“It counts as being your mother.”
She closed the refrigerator.
“I will bring food. I will answer calls. I will attend court. I will not pay debts, rent or legal fees.”
“Dad gave you rules?”
“I gave them to myself.”
Marcus laughed.
“You always choose him.”
“For years, I chose your comfort over your character.”
The words silenced him.
Eleanor sat at the small table.
“I paid your debts seven times.”
Marcus looked away.
“I never asked seven times.”
“Sometimes you asked. Sometimes I discovered them.”
“Dad didn’t know.”
“No.”
“How much?”
“Almost one million dollars.”
Marcus stared.
She listed private loans, unpaid taxes, club bills and losses from failed investments.
Each rescue preserved his lifestyle.
Each prevented Jonathan from seeing the full pattern.
“I thought I was protecting you from his disappointment,” Eleanor said.
“You were.”
“No. I was protecting myself from watching you face it.”
Marcus sat across from her.
“Do you regret helping me?”
“I regret calling it help.”
His phone buzzed.
A declined-payment notification appeared.
His remaining premium card had been canceled.
Marcus set the phone facedown.
“I don’t know how to live like this.”
“You learn.”
“Easy for you to say.”
Eleanor looked around.
“I grew up above my father’s hardware store. I wore my sister’s dresses and worked through college.”
“You married money.”
“I married Jonathan before he had it.”
Marcus had heard the story.
He had never listened.
“Was he always like this?” he asked.
“Disciplined?”
“Cold.”
Eleanor’s expression hardened.
“Your father is the only person currently loving you enough to let you dislike him.”
Marcus stood.
“You think cutting me off is love?”
“I think continuing would kill whatever remains of your judgment.”
Eleanor walked toward the door.
Marcus reached for her arm.
“Mom.”
She stopped.
“Can you lend me ten thousand? Not give. Lend.”
“No.”
“Five?”
“No.”
“What if I lose the apartment?”
“You have two weeks of rent paid from your watch.”
“You know about that?”
“You told me without saying it. You are wearing the cheaper one.”
Marcus released her.
Eleanor kissed his cheek.
Before leaving, she looked at the leather wallet.
“Read the letter again when you are ready to stop hearing it as an insult.”
The door closed.
Marcus unfolded the torn pieces.
He placed them together on the table.
For the first time, he read past the final line.
A sentence continued on the back.
If you choose responsibility, do not expect me to reward your first good decision. A different life is built through repetition.
Marcus stared at the words.
His phone rang.
Rachel Kim spoke.
“The prosecutor is willing to discuss a plea.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means you may avoid prison if you provide complete records, testify against Blake and repay what you personally received.”
“How much?”
“Four hundred and eighty thousand dollars.”
May you like
Marcus looked around the small apartment.
He had less than two thousand.
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