“No,” I whispered.
Gregory did not speak.
I folded the note carefully and placed it in my jacket pocket. The old me—the man who had believed himself rational because he was always decisive—would have stormed home, confronted Claire, called lawyers, burned every bridge at once.
That man had already destroyed enough.
“Don’t leave town,” I said.
Gregory nodded quickly.
“And don’t call Claire.”
“I won’t.”
I paused at the door. “If you warn anyone before I know where my children are, I will not threaten you. I’ll simply make sure the truth comes out with your name at the center of it.”
He looked at me then, fully. Not afraid of my money. Not afraid of my lawyers.
Afraid of the truth.
I walked out into the sunset with the envelope under my arm and a feeling I had not known for a year.
