Chapter 15
A year after Cassian found his mother kneeling beside the spilled dinner basket, Estelle hosted Sunday dinner.
She insisted on calling it hosting even though Greta did most of the work.
Cassian did not challenge her.
The guest list was small.
No capos.
No board members discussing business.
No relatives who believed family rank entitled them to a chair.
Estelle invited people she wanted.
Greta.
Dr. Weiss and his wife.
Rebecca.
Two old friends.
Cassian.
That was enough.
At seventy-nine—now eighty—Estelle moved more slowly.
She used a cane on bad days.
Sometimes she forgot names.
Sometimes she remembered insults from 1974 with terrifying precision.
Nobody turned either fact into a test.
Dinner was roast chicken.
Potatoes.
Green beans.
Too much bread.
Estelle ate first because she said she had earned the privilege after raising two sons who both became exhausting adults.
Cassian accepted the insult.
Afterward, Greta brought out cake.
Estelle looked suspicious.
“Who made that?”
“I did.”
“Then we’re safe.”
Rebecca laughed.
Later, when the others had gone, Cassian helped his mother into the sitting room.
She stopped near an old family photograph on the mantel.
Cassian and Brennan as boys.
Cassian was twelve.
Brennan was six.
Their father stood behind them.
Estelle touched the edge of the frame.
Cassian waited.
“Brennan wrote again,” she said.
Cassian knew.
Letters arrived every few weeks through the correctional facility.
Estelle had opened none of them after the supervised meeting.
She kept them in a drawer.
Not returned.
Not read.
“Do you want me to throw them away?”
“No.”
“Do you want me to read them?”
“No.”
Cassian nodded.
She looked at the photograph.
“Do you hate him?”
Cassian thought.
“No.”
“That would be easier.”
He smiled faintly.
“I said the same thing.”
“You probably stole it from me.”
“Probably.”
Estelle sat down.
For a while neither spoke.
The central betrayal was finished in every practical sense.
Brennan no longer controlled anything belonging to Estelle.
Lavinia was gone from the marriage, the estate, and the foundation.
The corporate structure had changed.
The abuse had been documented.
The people responsible had faced consequences.
Estelle had her home, her vote, her money, and—most importantly—her choices.
Nothing remained to expose.
Nothing remained to reverse.
Only one thing could not be decided by lawyers, boards, judges, or Cassian.
On the table beside Estelle sat Brennan’s newest unopened letter.
She picked it up.
Turned it over.
Then placed it back down.
“Not tonight.”
Cassian nodded.
May you like
He did not ask about tomorrow.
For once, he understood that the choice belonged entirely to her.
