The Question I Hadn’t Asked

I wrote six messages that night and sent none of them.

They all began with an explanation. I had been trying to protect her. I knew what men like Victor could do. I couldn’t take a chance with Zoe.

Every version made my reasons more important than what I had done.

At two in the morning, I put the phone down.

The next day, I asked Julian whether the apartment was secure. He said yes. I asked whether Hannah needed anything. He said she had asked for a booster seat for the kitchen chair.

“Did you get one?”

“Yes.”

“Which one?”

Julian looked up from his report.

“The one she chose.”

I deserved that.

I sent one message before lunch.

I’m sorry I arranged the move without speaking to you. You trusted me with the threat, and I answered by taking your choices away. You don’t have to reply. I’ll give you the space you asked for.

Then I went to work.

Rachel had brought in an independent accountant. They spread a sequence of transactions across my desk and walked me through what could be established, what remained uncertain, and what I would have to confront.

My father had approved the first diversions. Victor had continued after his death, hiding more substantial transfers among accounts few people examined. The money had been intended to help employees and their families. Instead, it had paid people who already had enough.

“You can replace the funds,” Rachel said. “That won’t make the history disappear.”

“I’m not asking it to.”

“There will be questions about the rest of your family’s business.”

“There are always questions.”

“This time you can’t decide who asks them.”

I looked at the photograph Hannah had left with the letters. My mother laughing on the terrace. Thirteen-year-old me scowling at something I no longer remembered.

“Then I’ll answer the ones I can.”

We agreed to preserve the records, identify the families affected, and separate the repayment process from Victor’s former office. No announcements with my face attached. No expectation that the people receiving what they were owed would thank me.

That last part was my instruction.

Mrs. Bell came to my study in the afternoon.

I offered her a chair. She remained standing.

“Did you know?” I asked.

“About the money? I knew people were turned away. I didn’t know where it went.”

“You should have told me.”

She looked at me until I heard myself.

I rubbed my forehead.

“I should have asked.”

“Yes, sir.”

I told her what we were doing. She listened, then gave me the name of a former gardener whose widow still lived in the neighborhood.

“Start there.”

When she left, I took my father’s portrait off the wall.

There was a pale rectangle behind it. I left it empty.

Hannah replied that evening.

Thank you for saying that. I need a little more time. Zoe wants to know whether you still have the duck book.

I stared at the screen longer than the message required.

I have it. Tell her the duck is still refusing to sleep.

A minute later, another message arrived.

She says he needs his bear.

I laughed alone in my study.

I did not use the conversation to ask when I could see her.

Two days later, Hannah called.

“I’d like to hear where things stand.”

“With Victor?”

“Yes.”

I told her. When I finished, she was quiet.

“Your father really did know.”

“He approved some of it. We have his instructions.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.”

“I can be sorry it hurts you without pretending he didn’t do it.”

I leaned back and closed my eyes.

There were things I had wanted from women before Hannah: pleasure, company, a pleasant hour in which nobody expected much of me. I had not known how to want this. Someone who could see the ugly part of an answer and stay on the phone.

“Rachel would like to speak with you,” I said. “You can have someone with you. Or arrange it through a representative. You don’t have to face Victor.”

“I want to make a statement about the call.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. I’m frightened, but I don’t want him doing this to someone else.”

“All right. I’ll give her your number if you’re comfortable with that.”

“I am.”

I heard Zoe in the background, protesting something about a banana.

Hannah lowered the phone, spoke to her, then came back.

“Claire peeled it.”

“Was that wrong?”

“Apparently it was a task Zoe had reserved for herself.”

“Grave mistake.”

“You’re learning.”

For a few seconds, neither of us ended the call.

“I miss you,” I said.

Her breath shifted.

“I miss you, too. I’m still angry.”

“I know.”

“Both things can happen.”

“I’m beginning to appreciate that.”

She laughed quietly. Then Zoe called again, and Hannah had to go.

The following Saturday, my phone rang while I was shaving. I answered with a towel around my neck.

“Are you busy tomorrow?” Hannah asked.

“Not if you’re asking.”

“That’s a terrible answer. You might have actual plans.”

“I’ll check.”

I stared at the mirror for the appropriate length of time.

“I’m free.”

“I’m cooking dinner. Claire will be here. Zoe has already set four places, so I’m asking before she invites the security guard.”

“I’d like to come.”

“Six o’clock.”

“I’ll be there.”

“And Dante?”

“Yes?”

“Bring yourself. We don’t need you to bring anything else.”

I rested my hand on the sink.

“Six,” I said. “I’ll remember.”